


No Battle Lasts Forever

by CoffeeJay, KAi_Sage



Series: Flowers [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Cold War, Comedy, Conspiracy, Death, Espionage, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Light Romance, Manipulation, Mildly Historical Hetalia, Multi, Mystery, Panic Attacks, Sickness, Slow Burn, We're really not kidding about that one, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 65,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeJay/pseuds/CoffeeJay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAi_Sage/pseuds/KAi_Sage
Summary: The war is over, but putting together everything that fell apart will be a greater challenge than anyone is prepared to handle.  Alliances dissolve, and the lines between friends and enemies are blurrier than ever before.





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read part one, you really might want to do that before continuing! I mean, you'll still probably catch on, but we really did spend a lot of energy setting this up. Do what you will, and whatever you do, enjoy!  
> -Jay

There had been talk of a bomb.  Horrible rumors about what it had done spread like shockwaves from the epicenter.  China couldn’t know what had happened, truly, except that lately, he had felt sickness coming up on him like a wave.

Perhaps it was a few days early to arrest Japan, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t check in on him.  

The air was wrong. The ocean curdled around the edges of the path at China’s feet.  Even the jagged trees of Japan’s garden cried out like skeletons pressed against the shrouded sky.  

How wrong it was that Japan’s door should stand open with nobody around to watch it-- how unnatural that no barking greeted China when he stepped inside.  Wind hummed to him from the depths of a corridor, idly flipping the pages of a book that had been left open on a table. He followed where it beckoned. Beside the book, he found a cup of tea.  Full. Untouched. Cold. 

How wrong it all was.

A whimper fell from the empty air, and China dove after it, into a darkened room.  Another whine told him the suffering wasn’t human or nation. Beneath the nightstand, shivering and withdrawn, growled Pochi in defense of his master’s home.  The dog appeared to want to get to his feet, although whether he wanted to attack or flee, China couldn’t be sure. Whatever the case, the dog clearly lacked the strength to do either very effectively.

China let him be while he crept through the rest of the house in search of Japan, or any sign of where he might have gone.

A draft guided his fruitless search until he reached Japan’s office, where the wind wheezed in and out of an open window.  Papers littered the floor in a strewn mess. Several of them fluttered weakly from where they were pinned beneath Japan’s overturned chair.  There had been a vase of white lilies on Japan’s desk, but now they lay withered on the floor in a loose bed of dirt. Black ink dripped over the edge of the desk from a toppled bottle, darkening the soil and ruining the rug where it splashed against it, one sluggish drop at a time.  

There was so much mess to take in that it took China several long seconds to see the blood. 

It was spattered against the papers, against the bone white of the lilies, coughed up and out of someone again and again.  A puddle of it had congealed on the rug, nearly as dark as the ink. There was a smear of it spread across the arm of the overturned chair.

Something horrible had happened to Japan.

China searched the house over once more, his heart pounding frantic worry into his chest.  Japan hadn’t disappeared. He was far too young. He was somewhere else, still alive. Still alive.  China darted outside and searched for a path that would lead him to Japan, rooting deep into his focus, digging desperately for the heart of him.

There was nothing.  Japan was nowhere to be found.

Numbly, China returned inside.  He moved through the house, feeling more like he was inside a crypt than a home, and when he found the bedroom again, he knelt by the nightstand just as solemnly.  “Pochi,” he whispered, reaching out to the shivering little animal that cowered there. “Here, boy. It’s alright.”

The dog gave a half-hearted growl, and then crawled forward, warily sniffing China’s fingers.  Finally, he let out a tired breath and rested his tiny head in China’s palm, looking up at him, hesitant, trusting.

“That’s a good boy,” China sighed, pulling the weak, shivering dog into his arms.  “I’ll take care of you until I find him. Don’t you worry.” He drifted outside, absently patting Pochi’s fur.  “I’ll find him. I will. He’ll be home soon.”

***

China was not an impatient man.  That was the fact of the matter, and anyone who knew him would be in agreement with that particular assessment of his character, whatever else they thought of him.  For this reason, he was able to conclude with absolute certainty that a meeting had never taken more time to arrange.

Of the nations that had even answered the phone, only Russia had been willing and able to drop everything to discuss Japan’s disappearance.  That had been where China’s fortune had ended. Most everyone else had been most tragically and regrettably busy-- although China could scarcely imagine what could be so important that they couldn’t set aside a few hours to discuss the fact that one of their fellow nations was missing-- and of those, America had taken several days to even respond to China’s calls. 

Another handful of days passed while the invited nations argued about whether or not Germany should be allowed to attend the meeting, or even be informed of Japan’s disappearance at all.  It seemed he had been completely put in the dark by those that controlled him, and that they intended to keep him that way. By that point, China couldn’t find it within himself to care what they decided to do about Germany.

All that mattered to him was finding Japan. 

After far, far too long, there came the day when he stood in front of those with whom he had allied himself throughout the war, with the addition of Italy and Romano, and was finally able to tell them of what he had found. 

There was a long pause once he had finished, and nobody knew where to rest their eyes.

“So,” Italy hesitantly started.  “He’s… He’s really… missing. I really hoped he would have turned up before the meeting, you know?  But he’s still...” 

“How terrible,” said Russia, his mouth a firm line.  “Just terrible. It’s a shame that America had to be so rough with him.  Really, I wouldn’t be surprised if he dissolved--”

“That wasn’t my idea!” America shot back.  His face was entirely red. “Nobody told me that was gonna happen!”

“Well, it did, and now Japan’s missing,” China cooly reminded him.

“Last I checked,” America retorted, “Russia just finished up an invasion over there, so why don’t you stop looking at me like I’m the bad guy here and check with him, instead?”

“Pointing fingers already,” Russia tutted.  “You twist reality. It was no invasion. That was a relief effort,” he said, causing America to roll his eyes.

“Sure, yeah, relief effort.  Trying to relieve him of his land, more like it.”

“We see the worst of ourselves in those around us, now don’t we?” said Russia.

England huffed and shook his head, knowing that he had to reroute the discussion before it devolved further.  “Look, it was almost time for us to go and make Japan own up to what he’s done, right?” he said. “He’s probably off hiding somewhere.  I say we let him be. It’s not like he can do us much harm, now. He’ll turn up sooner or later.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Romano cut in, trembling minutely in his fury.  “Japan? Run away? Are you fucking serious? He’d die first.”

France had to be the first to break the harsh silence that had followed Romano’s words.  “Well, assuming he didn’t die,” he said, “and assuming he didn’t run away, where did he go?  China said his house was a mess.”

China frowned deeply, but nodded all the same and said, “It looked like he’d been taken.”

“But who would do that?” America asked.  “What would anyone have to gain from kidnapping him?”

Romano shot him a sidelong glare and said, “Weren’t you guys planning on kidnapping him soon, anyway?”

“Arresting him,” England curtly corrected him.  “And your point only adds to the evidence that it wasn’t any of us.  He was going to be under our watch soon, so there would be no reason for any of us to capture him before then.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Russia.  “It’s entirely possible that someone in this very room might be keeping him hostage-- or, perhaps, trying to protect him, somehow.  Maybe someone didn’t want him to get arrested,” he suggested, pointedly not looking at Italy or Romano. “Or--and this is just an idea-- maybe someone’s been taking care of him out of guilt and doesn’t want anyone to see how bad off he really is.” 

America glowered at Russia from across the table.  “I’ve got some theories of my own,” he bit out. “Like maybe, just maybe, someone’s holding him ransom hoping for a little cut of land.  Golly, I wonder who’s shown interest in Japan’s land, lately!” 

“Um, I have an idea.”  As Canada spoke, several nations seemed to remember that he had been in the room with them the whole time.  “I think it’s much more likely that Japan’s own people are keeping watch over him somewhere. He’s-- He’s probably hurt,” Canada continued, glancing apologetically at his brother.  “And his superiors probably knew we were planning to take him in soon. I bet he’s just being looked after somewhere secret.”

“Always the voice of reason,” said France, patting Canada on the back.  “I think he has a point. Japan is probably fine.”

“Besides,” said England, “Isn’t it his people’s job to keep track of him?  It’s worrisome, nobody’s denying that, but we all have duties to fulfill. It’s not our place to go out looking for him when he may not even want to be found.”

“So you’re not going to help,” China stated, scanning the room.  “None of you?”

“I think we should all look for him, when we get the time,” Russia suggested.  “Just in case.”

“I’ll help, too!” Italy called out.  “I have a really bad feeling about this…”

“You can help from your house,” America told him, crossing his arms.

“But--”

“That was part of the deal,” said America, eyeing him warily.  “You’re with us, now, so you play by our rules.”

“He’s right,” England agreed.  “Minimal contact with Germany and Japan.  That was our agreement, so if you want to go look for him, you take one of us with you.”

“And how long are you going to treat us like we’re common criminals?” Romano retorted.  “The war’s over! He was our friend!”

“Was,” said England.  “Past tense. He’s not, anymore, so I suggest you remember where your loyalty lies.”

France shot England a cross glare and said, “That’s far too harsh.  Think about how you would feel, in their shoes. I don’t see why we can’t let them help.”

“I don’t see where they’ll find the time,” England shot back.

“And I don’t have time to deal with your politics,” China huffed, getting to his feet and gathering his things.  “I’ll find him myself, if I have to. The rest of you can rot.” With that, he left the table.

“Meeting adjourned, then, I guess,” Canada sighed as the others rose in a cloud of discord.

While the rest of them continued to bicker about whether or not Italy and Romano should be allowed to undertake their own investigations, and further about whether or not Germany should be told about any of this at all, Russia hurried to catch up with China.

“I hope you know that you have my full support,” he told him, resting a hand on his shoulder in hopes of slowing him down.  “This whole situation-- it truly is a mess.”

China took a breath.  “Thank you, Russia,” he said.  “What you said, though… it has me thinking.  America and England were very quick to shut down any plans of searching for him.”

“You think they do not want him to be found,” Russia stated, a curious eyebrow raised.

“With as long as it took them to agree to this meeting, it definitely seems that way,” said China.

Russia hummed in grim agreement.  “Whatever ill has befallen Japan,” he said in a low voice, “it might be of use to keep an eye on the others.”

“I certainly will try to,” said China.  Then, he shook his head, his eyes shifting pensively beneath his furrowed brows.  “Something is off about all of this. It’s like the moment one war ends, someone tries to start another.”

“Life is never boring,” said Russia, a hint of cheerfulness trying to poke its way out of his voice.  “All we can do is live it.” He followed China in silence a while longer before he added, “Do you have a plan?  Perhaps we can work together.”

“Not yet,” China sighed.  “I had hoped that we could all work together to make a real plan at that meeting, but you saw how that went.  No, I need to exhaust every possibility, probably starting with Japan’s officials. Although--” He paused, his shoulders sagging.  “As much as I hate it, England and the others do have a point. We all have our duties, and I won’t be able to devote every waking hour to looking for him.  He might be in danger, but he might not be, either. I have my own people to take care of.”

Russia nodded.  “Yes, I can understand.  But, you must see the bright side, here.”

China shot him a skeptical glance and said, “I can assure you I don’t.”

Russia smiled at him, then.  “This meeting has given you plenty of information to work with.  People’s reactions in situations such as this can be very telling.”

“I need to mull it over,” China agreed.  “You’re right, though. With certain individuals acting so strangely, I do have several leads to follow.”

“We,” said Russia.

China frowned at him.

“We have several leads to follow,” Russia elaborated.  “I will be by your side through this, until he is found.  I know how important family can be.” 

“Family,” China repeated.  The word rolled sour off his tongue.  “I don’t know if that’s the right word for it, anymore.”

“Ah, so it was the right word at one point,” said Russia.  “Believe me, only family could give you that sort of doubt.”

China grunted, scratching at his cheek, and said, “That reminds me.  Is Prussia still alive?”

It seemed to pain Russia greatly to say, “I fear he might not have long.  It truly is a shame. I’m doing everything in my power to ease his way out of this world.”

China nodded solemnly and said, “I can only hope someone does the same for me, one day.  The heavens know I’m getting far too old for all this nonsense.” 

Russia huffed a laugh.  “There may yet be some youth left in us, old friend.”

“If there is, I doubt there will be any left by the time all this has been cleared up,” China replied.  

Shortly thereafter, the two of them parted ways, each considering all the distance that still lay between them and their goals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White lilies are symbols purity, death, and rebirth, and happen to be Kai's favorite flower. To everyone who came here because you finished the first fic, bravo! It's fantastic to see you again! And to any newcomers, please don't be shy! Tell us what you think! We love feedback, and we love you.  
> Here's to another adventure together.


	2. Clipped Wings

Light filtered into Germany’s office through the dirty window there, casting gentle shadows beyond Germany’s shoulders.  For once, there was nothing on his desk but a thin layer of dust. Work would cover it soon, and he would bless the hour it did, because until the time came that somebody gave him something better to do, he would be trapped inside his house with his thoughts.  That was its own kind of torture. 

Maybe that was the point.  Maybe they wanted him to stew with his grief and his betrayal and his half-formed guilt.  They were trying to kill him from the inside out, and it was working. God, was it working.  He would never know the hour of his brother’s passing. He would never be able to be there to guide him through to the next life.  He had failed in the most miserable, catastrophic ways imaginable. There was nothing left.

All Prussia had been able to leave him was his bird.

Germany almost wished he hadn’t.  For one thing, he didn’t have the proper equipment to care for a bird.  He was half worried that one of his dogs might eat the sickly little creature.  The three mutts were restless enough as it was, and hungry, too. Germany loved them, but they were by no means inside dogs.  The soldiers posted outside wouldn’t even allow him to go outside long enough to walk them. Instead, they walked the dogs for him, no matter how he insisted he wouldn’t try to run.  He only wanted to walk his dogs. That was all.

There had been strict orders, they would remind him.  Captain Beilschmidt was not to leave his home for any reason until further notice. 

There was also the matter that Germany didn’t want to watch his brother’s beloved pet die, never knowing where his caretaker had gone.  There was already more than enough misery in his house. For the time being, however, the bird had free-reign of a spare bedroom that Germany had done his best to coat with old newspapers.  The last thing he felt like doing was scrubbing up bird droppings from the cracks between the floorboards. Most of the time, he kept the door to the room shut--half to keep the dogs out, and half to keep the bird in.  He’d left a bowl of water and a cup of seeds on the dresser. For what it was worth, Germany supposed it made a cozy enough cage.

He gazed around the walls of his own prison and wondered by what means his captors had deemed his own punishment suitable.  Food deliveries came once every few days. The animals always ate first. There was never quite enough. Other necessities, such as soap and dental floss, were delivered every other week.

His phone line had been severed.  His mail was picked through and censored before it ever reached his hands.  Germany was rather surprised they hadn’t gone ahead and boarded up his windows, while they were at it.  Then again, they had already nailed them all shut. Bitterly, he guessed at what they thought he could possibly do if he escaped, what terrible deeds he might commit if he--God forbid--were allowed to make phone calls.  He was a nation, not a wild animal.

As much as the thought of seeing England’s face made him want to hole himself up further, he still wished that his warden would drop by.  At the very least, he felt he should be able to call him. There were details of his imprisonment that he needed to discuss, like perhaps letting Hungary or somebody watch after his dogs.  His dogs hadn’t done anything wrong. They were, in fact, perfectly well-behaved, even when the guards threatened to have them muzzled, or worse.

His dogs, Germany further considered, were better behaved than his guards by anyone’s standards.  Those loathsome men camped out in his garden jeered at him whenever he opened the door to collect his rations and his mail, and more often than not, Germany was only left with whatever the men hadn’t already picked through and taken for themselves.  He was fairly certain they were making a game of withholding his toilet paper.

Why England and the others had thought it had been a good idea to leave him under the care of humans, he would never understand.  At least his brother had been sent to die with his own kind. Even the most despicable nation was better company than humans. Humans started wars, and nations were left to pick up whatever was left afterwards.  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. 

There wasn’t a thought that Germany could have about his situation or the loss of his brother that he hadn’t already turned over in his mind a thousand agonizing times in his solitude.  He was long past the point of breaking down, of tears, of hitting walls and crying out at the injustice of it all. There was only his guilt, and the anger for which he had no better target than himself.

Without much thought, Germany stood from his desk, crossed the room, and ripped the map down from the wall.  Pins popped free and scattered like red ants as he sent the map billowing to the floor. He kicked at it once, twice before letting out a puff of hot air.

What had he ever hoped to accomplish?  He had gained nothing, and nearly everything of importance to him had been stripped away from him.  He had lost his freedom, his family-- even his friends, if he could even call them that. Japan had surely lost all respect for him.  He had every right to blame Germany for whatever drudgery the Allies had inflicted upon him, not that Germany had any idea what had become of Japan.  He could only assume that he had been barricaded in his own home, as well. As for Italy--

Germany slumped against a wall and stared bleakly at the world that now lay crumpled at his feet.  He had only wanted to help his people prosper. He had only wanted to save his brother. Italy had asked him to surrender all that.  He had begged him, in fact, but to Germany, that had been far too costly a request. He wondered if he might have accepted defeat if he had known what dismal reality awaited him at the end of his pursuit of victory, if he had been able to see how the fruit of all his sleepless nights had still grown sour, unpalatable.

There wasn’t a doubt in Germany’s mind that he would have never been able to convince his leaders to surrender with him.  Perhaps the Allies would have had more mercy on him if he had gone with Italy. They might have even let him be with his brother through the last of his days.  Germany considered through the ache in his chest that if he had listened to Italy, he certainly wouldn’t be so alone now. 

Except, the click of paws down the hall reminded him that he wasn’t entirely alone.  He slid down the wall until he found the floor, waiting as the noise drew closer. At last, a snout poked its way into his office, followed shortly by the rest of Berlitz.

Germany reached out and patted his dog’s neck, smiling despite himself when he earned a lick for his efforts.  “You wouldn’t mind a little trip to Hungary’s house, would you?” Germany mused. “You would have room to run around, at least until all this blows over.  She would understand the situation, even if she and I…” He trailed off, and sighed. “On second thought, maybe Austria--” He cut himself off. Austria was likely being treated much the same way as Germany himself was, which meant that sending his dogs to him would do them no better.  Besides that, Austria had always been more of a cat person, anyway.

Germany closed his eyes and rested his head against his dog, who sat patiently under the weight of his master’s melancholy.  “I can’t count on Gil to watch you, anymore, can I?” he mumbled. “There’s no one left to count on. Nobody at all.”

_ That’s not true. _

A dry laugh fell out between Germany’s lips at the stern disapproval preserved in his brother’s voice, even in memory.  The worst part was that he couldn’t even argue with him this time.

_ I am not the only person in this world who has ever loved you, Ludwig. _

“It’s almost time for your walk, I think,” said Germany, bringing himself abruptly to his feet.  Berlitz followed him up with his tail wagging fiercely. “Let’s go talk to the hooligans outside and see if they’ll take you for a run.  Let’s go! That’s a good boy.”

Germany stepped out into his hallway and whistled once, long and clear.  Less than a minute passed before Aster and Blackie joined Berlitz at Germany’s feet.  “Such good dogs, all of you,” he sighed, patting each of them in turn. Then, he stood straight and commanded, “Leashes.”  The three of them immediately trotted off to find their leads. He winced when he heard them start to race back--their claws would wreak havoc on his floors.  Still, he supposed he had plenty of time to train them not to run in the house.

Each in quick succession, his dogs came sliding to a halt before him, each one with a leash in their mouth.  “You haven’t needed these things since you were puppies,” he lamented, letting Aster drop her leash into his hand.  He secured it to her collar before moving on to the next dog. “They think you’re dangerous, though,” Germany told them while he worked.  “They think you’d--that you’d chew their legs off, or something. Foolishness.” He finished his task and stood straighter, all three leads in hand.  “You’d never hurt anyone who didn’t have it coming,” he added as he walked his dogs to the front door. “Not that these fools don’t have it coming. Sit.” 

Familiar with the process, the dogs waited in a line by the door while Germany let out a short breath and knocked.  He listened. There were voices outside, muffled. How he loathed them. He knocked again, loathing even more the fact that he was forced to knock on his own door for a mere peek at the rest of the world. 

Germany was considering calling the whole affair off when America burst inside, startling everyone.  He was followed closely by England, who quietly shuffled inside behind him and closed the door.

“Germany!” America greeted, his grin poisonously charming.  “Good to see you! You’re just the man we came to see.”

“I’m the only man here,” Germany stated, crossing his arms.

Growls rumbled low in the dogs’ throats.  England cautiously skirted around them to get further inside.  “About to go for a walk, were we?” he asked, eyeing them warily.

“That was the goal,” Germany replied.  “But then I got guests. So.” There was enough acid in his voice to corrode steel.  “It appears my plans have changed.”

“Nice place you got here,” said America.  He sat down on the arm of one of Germany’s chairs and added, “It’s a little stuffy, though.  Maybe you should open up a window or something.”

“Is that your idea of a joke?” Germany drawled.

America blinked at him a few times.

“The windows, America,” said England, leaning against a wall.  “The windows are all nailed--”

“Oh,” America laughed, an even wider grin than before splitting his face.  “Sorry about that. My bad.” 

Germany wanted nothing more than to tell them both to get out of his house and to take their blasted soldiers with them, but instead he bit out, “What do you want?”

“Someone’s cranky,” America noted.  “But if you want to get right to business--”

England tiredly shook his head.  “Hold on a minute, America,” he said before turning his attention to Germany.  “Why don’t we walk and talk? The weather’s nice.”

“Oh, is it?” Germany asked.  “I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, it really is a nice day outside, even by his standards,” America agreed, oblivious to Germany’s contempt.  “Let’s go! You can take your dogs, too.” 

“As I recall,” Germany replied, sparing no vitriol, “you two ordered your men to shoot me if I so much as stuck my toe past the threshold of that door, so I think I’ll stay inside.  My dogs could go with you, though. Your men are under no orders to shoot them--but then, they do threaten to do that at least once a week, so maybe--”

“Point taken,” England cut Germany off with a sharp wave of his hand.  “Look. We’ll call off the guards for a bit, and then we’ll all have a nice little chat in your back garden while these--” England grimaced down at the three dogs still growling at his feet-- “precious little pets of yours have a romp outside.  How about it?”

As satisfying as Germany was finding his petty defiance, his visitors looked ready to leave him to his misery if he pushed it much further.  Contrary to what his dignity told him, Germany needed them to stay. He needed to negotiate. For the sake of both his sanity and his dogs, he finally said, “Fine.  Just make sure I don’t get shot in the process.”

It only took a minute for America and England to escort Germany and his dogs safely past the guards and into the fresh air.  Germany felt his temperament improve the instant the breeze caressed his face. His dogs, too, had stopped their growling and had even begun to wag their tails as they sniffed and pawed through the grass, roaming as far as their leads would allow.

“I told you it was a nice day,” said England, noting the way Germany seemed to be trying to soak in every last ray of sunlight.

Germany only hummed in response.  A voice in the back of his mind told him to summon up a path and run while he had the chance.  The presence of the men strolling along by his elbows reminded him that he likely wouldn’t get far.  While humans would never be able to follow him, his current guards were another matter entirely.

“Say,” America began as the dogs slowed to sniff around Germany’s geraniums.  “Wouldn’t you like to do this more often? You sure have been cramped in that house a long time. I mean,” he put out a short, breathy laugh, “Golly, If it were me in your shoes, I would have cabin fever something awful by now.”

Germany passed him a suspicious look.  “What are you suggesting?”

America pursed his lips and shrugged.  “I don’t know, I was just thinking-- see, me and the old man here have some blueprints we’d like you to look over.”

“Blueprints?” Germany repeated.  “For what?”

“Oh, nothing too special,” England assured him.  “Cameras, recording devices, vehicle parts-- there’s more than that, but you get the gist of it, I think.  You’re a well-rounded chap when it comes to engineering and that sort of thing, aren’t you?”

“Of course he is,” said America, draping his arm around Germany’s shoulders.  “Which is why you’re just the man for the job, Germany. All we want you to do is look over the blueprints and see if there’s anything that needs fixing or improving.  It’s right up your alley.”

Germany resisted the strong urge to tell America to keep his hands off him and instead said, “Let me see, then, if I understand you correctly.  If I revise these blueprints you plan on giving me, you’ll, what, come visit and take me on a walk every now and then? I must say, I’m not very impressed.”

“Well that’s not all,” America told him.  “If we end up doing business together a lot, it might be best for everyone if your phone gets put back in working order.”

Germany scowled.  “Forget the phone,” he said.  “Start by making sure these punks you’ve posted here quit looting my supplies before I get them.  Or, better yet, let me do my own confounded shopping.”

“Patience,” England chided him.  “You’ll get your freedom back in due time.  We just have to know we can trust you not to go starting any other global conflicts, first.”

“Oh, right, I must have forgotten that all my people are at my beck and call, just waiting to jump into another fight,” Germany sarcastically replied.  “Is that all you have to offer?”

“Germany,” America sighed, shaking his head.  “Did it ever occur to you that we could be friends?”

“I don’t need your friendship,” Germany scoffed, finally shrugging him off in favor of leading his dogs back towards his house.

“Are you sure?” said America, trailing after him unfazed.  “Because I think we could be real bosom buddies, you know. Real chums.  You just gotta think about--”

“I’ll look over your misbegotten blueprints!” Germany tartly declared.  “I might even do more work than that, just so long as you stop threatening me with your-- your friendship.”

“There’s a good lad!” said England, clapping him on the back.  “We’ll make sure to get you those blueprints, then, and I’ll make sure the gentlemen guarding your door quit snatching your things.”

Germany let out a short huff of approval.

“See?” said America.  “This is the start of a great friendship!”

“For the last time, we aren’t friends!”

“Friendly acquaintances?”

“No.”

America thought about this for a moment before he suggested, “Alright, how about business partners?”

“Business associates,” Germany stubbornly corrected him as he and his dogs were shepherded back inside.

“Alright!  Business associates it is!” said America.  He stuck out his hand and put on a smile so charismatic that even Germany couldn’t help but complete the handshake.  “Well then,” said America, backing out the door. “I’ll go talk to the guys outside. I’m sure we’ll reach an understanding.  Until next time, Germany!” With that, he left Germany in England’s company.

“I’ll swing around tomorrow morning with those blueprints,” he said, likewise lingering near the door.  “After that, expect visits every week or so. Progress reports, if you understand.”

“Yes, very well,” Germany mumbled, stooping to unhook the dogs from their leashes.

England fidgeted in the doorway until Germany had finished.  He cleared his throat and said, “I want you to know that I’m truly sorry about your brother.”

There was a thick pause as Germany stared back at him, searching England’s face for any trace of mockery.  He found pity there, and guilt, and a terrible sincerity underlying it all. What Germany was meant to do with those things, he had no idea.  A hundred caustic thoughts nearly made their way to his tongue, but the one he managed to speak aloud was, “I need a bird cage.”

England furrowed his bushy brows.  “Pardon?”

“Prussia left me his bird, and I don’t have the equipment for it.”

Faintly, the sound of America laughing with the men outside drifted through the open door.  “I’ll see what I can do,” England told him. “I suppose I’ll be heading off, then.”

“There’s one more thing I need,” said Germany, gazing off towards an empty corner of his house.

“Careful now,” said England, crossing his arms.  “I’m not your butler.”

“Japan, Italy, and Romano.”  Germany met England’s eyes, then.  “How are they?”

An even greater pause filled the air.  England chewed on his lip and a few different lies before he settled on, “They’re doing well, all things considered.”

“Ah,” Germany sighed.  His shoulders fell under the weight of something bittersweet.  “Right. Good afternoon, then.”

“Afternoon,” England replied.  He nodded and turned on his heel, and Germany watched as the door to the rest of the world was closed on him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geraniums can be symbols of unexpected meetings, ingenuity, sadness, mistakes....  
> Kai and I are officially on vacation from college, so hopefully that will give us some time to recharge the old creative batteries and give this fic some extra love. As always, thank you all so much for your support and your questions and your comments and your enthusiasm and for being the best all around. Don't forget to floss!  
> Jay


	3. Dinner Plans

“This is bullshit.”

“Keep it down!” Italy hissed, peeking between the window blinds at the guard stationed outside.  The nearest one paced idly, face slack. Clearly, he had heard nothing. Italy retreated from the window.

Romano, meanwhile, had already tugged off his shoes and was in the process of flinging himself into his chair when he huffed out, “Why should we bother keeping quiet?  I’m pretty sure the asshole outside already knows that this whole thing is a steamy pile of crap.” A stern look from Italy finally persuaded him to lower his voice. “They’re gonna be suspicious anyway if they hear us muttering.  They’ll think we’re plotting, or something.”

“Well we are plotting,” Italy informed him, stalking over to his brother.  “We can’t just sit by and do nothing while Japan’s missing!”

“Hey, keep it down,” Romano parroted, giving Italy a wry grin.

Italy deflated a bit and draped himself across a chair near Romano.  “I’m serious. He could be in serious danger, and it didn’t look like anybody was going to do much about it at all.”

“I know,” Romano sighed.

“So we have to do something!”

“I know!” Romano hopelessly repeated.  “I know. Just when I actually start to think the guy might be tolerable, he goes and--”  He scowled at nothing in particular and shook the thought from his head. “Let’s just-- let’s think about this.  We want to find Japan.”

“Well, yeah!” Italy answered him with an exasperated throw of his hands.

“...Even if he’s been a dick lately?”

“Roma,” Italy chided him.

“I’m just saying, he owes us an apology,” Romano sighed.  “And maybe we owe him… whatever. So, we want to find Japan,” he reiterated.  “What the hell can we do about it? We can’t really go anywhere, for one thing.”

“Not without supervision, at least,” said Italy, absently kicking his legs over the side of the armchair.  “So if we wanted to go looking, we’d have to take France. England and America didn’t seem like they’d want to help us at all.”

“Isn’t that the understatement of the century,” Romano drawled.

“Maybe we could call China for help?” Italy suggested.

Romano shook his head.  “We can’t go to him. The others don’t trust China--at least, not enough to share Germany with him.”  Something sickly flopped around in Italy’s stomach at that. “I guess he was too close to Japan, or something.  Like us.” Romano slouched further into his chair. “Whatever. He’s a shady bastard, for sure, and even if we could rely on him to help find Japan, we couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t turn it around on us somehow, later.  You know, it even looked like they were giving France the cold shoulder for taking our side,” he continued with a shake of his head. “It’s like as soon as the war ended, they all went right back to their own little cliques.  Paranoid jackasses--oh, you know our phone lines are tapped, right?”

“What?” Italy exclaimed, pushing himself up.  “They’ve been listening to our phone calls?”

“France passed me a note at the meeting,” Romano sighed.  “So watch your tongue. We’re a couple of little angels as far as they know, got it?  If we lay low, they’ll be off our backs in no time.”

“But that makes it even harder to look for Japan,” said Italy, growing more disheartened by the second.  “We can’t ask for help, we can’t make a scene, we can’t go anywhere without supervision-- what are we going to do?”

Romano grimaced and, after a pause, said, “Whatever we do about him, we gotta be subtle about it.  We keep it hush-hush. England and America never hear a word about it. China, Russia-- forget you know them, got it?  France stays out of this as much as possible.”

The two of them were quiet for a long while before Italy mumbled, “Germany deserves to know what’s going on.”

“Germany deserves worse than he's getting, after what he did to you,” Romano curtly replied.

“Maybe he does,” Italy shot back, “But he should still know.  It’s not right to keep something like this from him, or anyone.  Even jerks.”

Romano watched him closely.  “You still think he can change, don’t you?”

“Of course not,” Italy told him, curling further into himself.  “Nations like him don’t change. Grandpa wouldn’t. Holy Rome wouldn’t.”  Italy clutched at his arms and said, “I should know better by now, shouldn’t I?  I was… I was really stupid.” A half-hearted laugh escaped him. “You know,” he whispered, “I think I loved him.  Like--really, really loved him.”

“You think, dumbass?” Romano lightly replied.  There was no scorn in his voice-- only pity. “It was inevitable.  You know that, right? I don’t get what you saw in either of them, but he’s the spitting image of Holy Rome, and exactly like him, too.”

“They weren’t exactly the same,” Italy protested.  “Holy Rome had a lazy streak, you know. Germany never did.  And Holy Rome never liked dogs as much as Germany does. They’re-- They’re not the same.  Not exactly.” Italy slipped his hand into his pocket and grazed his fingers around the edge of the cross Germany had given him.  A sigh pressed between his lips. “I guess they weren’t different enough, though, huh?”

Romano sniffled once.  “I think you should go on home, Veneziano,” he said.  “I’ll call up France and see if I can get him to come over for dinner this week, or something.  Then we’ll see where that gets us.”

“Yeah,” Italy sighed, sliding out of his chair.  “Okay.”

“And don’t try anything weird before that, got it?” Romano warned him.  “Japan’s gotta turn up eventually. Things are gonna turn out fine as long as we lay low.”  He escorted him to the door and added, “And remember to stay off the phone.”

“I know, Lovi,” said Italy, smiling weakly at his brother.  “See you tomorrow.”

“I never said you could call me that, you know,” Romano grumbled.  “Don’t you have enough nicknames for me?”

Italy only laughed at him and repeated, “See you tomorrow!”  Then, he knocked on the door. “Hey, mister soldier!” he called out, still knocking.  “I’m ready to go back home now!”

The same weary soldier from before opened the door and ushered Italy outside before locking the door on Romano.  Romano watched through a window as the soldier guided Italy next door, where another guard was keeping watch in front of Italy’s house.  He waited until his brother was safely inside before he let his curtains fall back into place, obscuring him from the eyes of the soldiers or anyone else. 

***

“Oh, great.  Who invited you?”

“Lovi!” Spain exclaimed, pushing past France to give Romano a big squeeze.  “How’s my favorite jailbird? You look so much better than the last time I saw you!”

“You don’t,” Romano wheezed, tolerating the hug with a forced grimace.

“No, I think he does,” Italy disagreed.  “Look, he’s got some color back in his cheeks!”

“Come here, Feli, you get a hug, too,” Spain gushed, taking Italy in his arms.  Spain was grinning like he usually did, Italy noted. France had a smile on his face, and even his brother was having a hard time hiding his grin.  It was so much more cheerfulness than he had seen in what felt like forever that he didn’t know what to do with it except return Spain’s hug with as much vigor as he could muster.

France shook his head fondly at all of them and said, “I think a little peace and quiet has done us all some good.  No more wars, no more fighting, just time to relax and enjoy each other’s company.” He seemed to remember himself when he took in a sharp breath and added, “Oh, is there anything left to do in the kitchen, or..?”

“Nah,” said Romano, leading the group to the table.  “Everything’s ready. Just sit down and eat. But if you really want to help, you can do my dishes later.”

France huffed a laugh, pointed a thumb at Spain, and said, “I think I’ll leave that to my plus-one, today.”

“Hey, what happened to relaxing?” Spain protested, settling himself at the table.  “Besides, Lovi, don’t you and Feli get enough relaxation in, you know, given the circumstances?”

“Almost too much,” Romano grumbled, earning him a funny look from his brother.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he teased him.

“I pull my weight, and yours, too!” Romano shot back.  “I don’t think you’ve done a damned thing since--” He stopped himself the moment he saw Italy’s face fall.  “Look, never mind all that,” he said, clearing his throat. “There’s a little business we need to discuss.”

“Oh?” France prompted him, taking a sip of his wine.  “What is it?”

Romano took his time breaking a loaf of bread.  “You see,” he haltingly started, buttering up a slice.  “There’s been a lot of stuff going on, lately, and we know you’re busy--you’ve done so much for us, and we really appreciate it, and all that-- see, we were hoping, maybe, if you had the chance--”

“We want you to take us to see Japan’s house,” Italy blurted out before Romano had a chance to finish.  He gave his scowling brother an apologetic glance before he continued, “We just want to see for ourselves that he’s-- you know, um… gone.”

“Yeah,” said Romano, fidgeting in his seat.  “So can you take us, or not?”

Italy watched first perplexity, and then doubt, and finally pity carousel across France’s features before France at last sighed out, “I know that Japan’s disappearance has been difficult for you both, but I don’t know what you hope to find at his home except more pain and disappointment.”

“I’m finding a lot of that right now, if I’m honest,” said Italy through an empty laugh.

France closed his eyes and shook his head.  “We would have to spend most of the day travelling,” he argued.  “I don’t even know if the others would agree to it.”

“Don’t you think that’s why we asked you?” Romano huffed.  “The rules you guys gave us were that if we planned on leaving the country, we had to have you or England or America as an escort.  They never set limits on distance, and Japan’s not even going to be there, right? So it’s not like we’re asking to see him in person or anything.”

“We just want to go have a look, just this once,” Italy pleaded.

“I just don’t know if this is really--”

“Francis,” Spain sighed, placing an imploring hand on his shoulder.  “Where’s all that love and sympathy you’re always talking about? I know the war’s been hard for you, but they’ve lost people, too.  At least with Gil, we know he’s-- we know he’s not coming back,” he forced out, the words landing like stones. “But nobody knows where Japan is.  I would be worried sick, if he were my friend. Wouldn’t you? You can afford to take one day off for them, just to help them sleep a little better.  It would mean a lot to them, right?”

“It really would,” Italy agreed, doing his best to tamp out the fresh guilt that was rearing up in his gut.  “Can’t you help us out?” 

France had taken to rubbing his temples, by this point, and it was with a heavy breath that he finally conceded, “What the others don’t know won’t hurt them, I suppose.  We’ll go the day after tomorrow.”

“I knew we could count on you!” Italy rejoiced, nearly overturning his chair in his haste to take France in a hug of gratitude.

“Don’t make me regret it, please,” France answered him with a firm pat on the back.  “I trust you’ll be on your best behavior?”

Italy planted himself back in his chair and said, “Of course!”

“I’ll keep him in line,” Romano dutifully promised him.

Spain winked at Romano, then, and said, “Maybe it’s you he should be worried about.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Romano demanded.  The only answer he was afforded was a boisterous laugh from Spain.  “Hey,” he scolded him. “Stop picking on me, you jerk. We don’t have to give you any dessert.”

“Oh, what did you make?” France asked.

Spain straightened up as Romano answered, “Nothing special, just some little cakes.  We thought it would be nice to have a treat, since we were having guests.”

“Hey, maybe if you visit more often, we could make some more for you,” Italy teased.

“Well maybe I won’t keep visiting if you keep asking me for favors,” France replied, a hint of mirth in his eyes.

Italy quieted significantly, then, and France deflated.  “Don’t tell me you have another favor to ask of me.”

“It’s just one tiny little thing,” Italy promised him.  “Just-- listen, I won’t ask you to let me talk to Germany just yet--”

“Good, because I can’t do that,” France sternly interrupted him.

Italy fiddled with his napkin as he continued, “I know!  I don’t even want to talk to him.” Whether or not that was a lie, not even Italy knew.  “I just wanted to know-- see, um, if I baked a loaf of bread or something, would you maybe deliver it to him for me?”

A thick pause was broken by another chuckle from Spain.  “What,” he laughed, “Are you planning on poisoning him, Feli?  Because if you want some better ideas for revenge, I can name a few.”

“No,” Italy answered him with a short, nervous giggle.  “No, nothing like that.”

“Well why on earth would you want to send him bread?” asked France bemusedly.

Italy glanced around the table for an answer.  Romano remained oddly quiet, although Italy couldn’t miss the suspicious glare that he had leveled at him, and Spain and France merely watched him expectantly.  “Um,” he started. His napkin had become a tight wad in his fist. “I want to make him feel bad,” he finally decided, nodding to himself. 

“With bread,” Spain stated.

“Feliciano, you’re not making much sense,” France informed him, confusion written in the knit of his brow.  “Perhaps this arrangement has been harder on you than we expected…”

“Hear me out!” Italy insisted.  “If he sees that I was nice enough to bake him some bread, even after how he treated me, he’ll feel guilty!”

France opened and shut his mouth a few times, his face growing progressively more puzzled before it smoothed itself out into some semblance of acceptance.  “Alright,” he agreed with a shake of his head. “I’ll deliver your baked goods to him on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Italy hesitantly asked him.

“If you do decide to poison him, don’t tell me about it,” said France.  “I support you, believe me, but I don’t need to be held liable for that.”

“Oh,” Italy laughed, relief seeping into his voice.  “Okay. I promise, I won’t tell you, and I’ll take the full blame!”

“You better,” Romano mumbled.  The suspicion hadn’t left his eyes, but Italy relaxed considerably when he said, “Speaking of baked goods, who wants dessert?” 

“I’ll go get the cakes!” Italy volunteered, leaving the others to enjoy their chatter.  He took the moment of respite to center himself, taking a distant sort of comfort in the weight of the cross in his pocket.  Everything would be alright, he promised himself. This time, he would have to be more careful with his planning, but he was sure that everything would turn out.  After the way the last few years had been, they had to.

With that in mind, a smile came much more naturally to his face than it had in the days prior, and when he returned to his friends with their dessert, he wore it as brightly as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request, our dear sunshine man enters the story. As always, if anything's confusing, don't be shy! I love questions. You guys are so great about commenting, and Kai and I are so blessed <3  
> Keep your eyes peeled for a Christmas special, courtesy of the co-author! That should be appearing in a separate fic where we'll put bonus chapters from now on. It'll be tacked on as part of the series. You'll know it when you see it.   
> To everyone celebrating this week, safe travels, and be kind to yourselves! To everyone not celebrating this week, safe travels, and be kind to yourselves!  
> (Also, to anyone looking for general mood music for this whole house arrest-pining situation, the previous chapter in particular, go listen to Wish You Were Here. I prefer the Ninja Sex Party cover to the Pink Floyd original, but whatever floats your boat!)


	4. Investigating Quarters

Italy spent at least a half hour plodding after the barely-risen sun before he had managed to feel like he wasn’t sleepwalking.  Even then, he found himself slumping against his brother now and again. 

“Sorry,” Italy would mumble, shortly before doing it again.

“Get off me,” Romano would yawn, too tired to be as stern as he would have liked. 

“This was your idea,” France would quietly remind them, and after about the third repetition of this exchange, Italy had finally gathered the wherewithal to answer him with a question of his own.

“Are we there yet?”

“Good morning, Feli!” Spain teased him.  “Looks like you’re finally awake.”

“I’ve been awake,” Italy stubbornly yawned, folding his arms around himself.  “Are we almost there?” 

“I think you’ll be happier with the answer if you ask again in a couple of hours,” said France.  He, too, looked to be in want of coffee.

“Don’t say that,” Romano said, shooting a sideways glance at his brother.  “He’ll start asking about the time instead of the distance.”

Italy sniffed once and said, “Well, if we’re on the subject…”

“It’s too damned early,” Romano hastily answered him.  “That’s what time it is.”

It was over Romano’s grumbling and with a startling abundance of cheer that Spain answered, “It’s half past six.  Sunrises are always so pretty at half past six. Don’t you think so too, Francis?”

France shook his head and failed to restrain a yawn.  “If you asked me at any other time of day--maybe on any other day, even this early--I would certainly agree with you, my friend.  But today, in this moment, I do believe my bed would look a touch prettier.” Another yawn took its leave of him before he threw a light scowl towards Italy and Romano.  “How did you two rope me into this, again?”

“I think it has more to do you with you being the best than anything else,” Italy brightly suggested, earning him a quiet scoff of approval.

“What I wanna know is what Tonio’s doing here,” said Romano.  “Nobody dragged you out of bed to come with us halfway across the world.”

Spain only laughed at him.  The noise bounced around in the quiet air of dawn, barely contained by it.  “Do you want to known the truth?” he asked. “I was getting kind of lonely waiting for everyone to finish fighting, before.  My Boss wouldn’t let me spend too much time with anybody. You know, just in case people started to think I was spying or taking sides or something like that--it looked bad.  But I snuck out a time or two. You guys would know.” Smiling to himself, he watched a wispy cloud drag its tail across the sun. “It’s good to see everyone back on the same side.  Some friendships are stronger than any war.”

“It wasn’t any good for me at all, shooting from the opposite side of the battlefield at you two,” France sighed, still fond despite the hour.  “You two, and—“

He stopped himself, and the rest of them felt his regret almost at the same moment they felt their own grief resurface.  There was a hole in the conversation where Prussia should have been, and it had to be filled with silence. 

“Gil would have hated this,” Spain quietly noted.  “How we can’t even talk about him without sounding like we’re in a crypt or something.  Right about now he would be cracking a lewd joke and telling us all to lighten up.”

“You’re right,” Italy laughed.  It forced itself out of his throat, creaking like a ship about to be shattered on a crag made of guilt.  “We should be more cheerful! Anybody know a good song for the road?”

Spain’s face ignited with glee.  “Lovi! That one about the girl named Rosa—sing it for us!” 

“Oh no, no no no!”  Romano shook his head furiously, nearly hiding how his own face had ignited with quite a different shade of emotion.  “Sing it yourself if you wanna hear it so bad, you bastard.”

“Roma,” Italy whined, leaning on his brother once more.  “Your voice is so pretty! You and Spain should sing it together!” 

“You sing it with him,” Romano huffed.

Italy gasped at that.  “That’s a great idea!” he declared, but before Romano could even enjoy his relief, Italy added, “We’ll all sing it together!”

“Wait just a minute,” France protested through a laugh.  “I don’t even know what song you’re talking about!” 

“It’s a good one,” Spain excitedly assured him.  “We’ll teach you, just listen!” He took in some air, and out floated the jaunty tune.  Italy quickly joined him with just as much gusto. Quite by accident, Romano found himself singing harmony before the end of the first verse, and France started stumbling over the words as soon as he was able, laughing with the others as they went.  Just like that, with their songs and their cheer, the four of them sang the sun into the clouds, for once not minding that they had so far to travel.

The good spirit that they’d worked so hard to weave into the atmosphere went stale when Japan’s home appeared at the end of the road.  Neglect ravaged the gardens. Weeds crept greedily over the footstones towards the house, seeking to claim it in their suffocating grasp.  All they needed was time. It was a ragged, pitiful sight. Japan would have been ashamed for them to see his home in such a state.

For the first time, Italy wondered if they might be intruding.

That sense of the crypt returned to the four of them, and it was in total sobriety that they passed through the threshold into Japan’s deadened home, removing their shoes at the door.  Japan would have hated for them to dirty his floors, despite the dust already piling up on them in his absence. He would have insisted they take the house slippers he kept for guests, and these they took, following Italy’s lead.

In a slow, silent line, the four of them delved into Japan’s home, taking in all they could.  None of them knew what they were looking for, exactly. A cabinet in the kitchen had been left open, leaving Japan’s tea collection on full display.  Pochi’s toys were missing from the sitting room. A book lay open on a table, the corner folded in to mark Japan’s place now serving no purpose. All these things, they observed in hushed quiet.  Had they been speaking, they may not have heard the scratching.

It was coming from Japan’s office.  France motioned for everyone to keep quiet and follow him towards the noise.  Nobody dared make a sound. They peered into the office to find a lone figure crouched on the floor.  His sleeves were rolled back to keep them dry as he ran a sponge furiously against the bloodstains on the floor.  Sickly pink suds flew up in a frothy spray behind him as he worked.

China didn’t even look up.  Nobody could tell whether he hadn’t noticed or simply didn’t care.  They would have stood there mesmerized by his work for much longer had a voice not sounded behind them.

“Ah, so we have visitors.”   

China’s head whipped up at the sound of Russia’s voice, and all the others whirled around in their shock.

“Um!” Italy announced.  “Russia! China, too, um--What are you guys doing here?”

“House sitting,” China breathed, tossing his sponge into a bucket he had lugged into the office.  “And apparently doing a poor job of it, if you four managed to sneak up on us like this. How long have you been here?”

“Just a minute,” said Romano in a tone that made it unclear whether he was answering the question or diverting the conversation.  He threw a glare at Russia that wouldn’t have been so nasty had Spain and France not stood between them and demanded, “What’s he doing here?”

“I’m helping!” Russia cheerily replied, showing off his broom for emphasis.  “There was a little bit of a mess here when we started. Did you come to help clean, too? We haven’t done the dusting, yet.”

Doubt settled on France’s brow.  “Actually,” he said, “we came to see the evidence.”

“Evidence?” Russia repeated.  “What evidence?”

“The evidence that you’re cleaning up,” Spain pointed out.  “You know, so we can investigate what happened to Japan.” 

China dusted off his knees and got irritably to his feet.  Somehow, he looked even more haggard than he had during the war.  “If you wanted to see this place how it was when Japan went missing, you should have been here days ago,” he informed them with a stern shake of his head.  “Besides, I didn’t think anyone else actually cared. Or, wait, do you care? Or are you just here to see if he left you anything in his will?”

“Of course we care!” Italy gasped, indignant.  “We’ve been worried sick!”

China barked out a laugh.  “Oh, forgive me for assuming the nations that betrayed him don’t care about him.”

“Shut your damned mouth!” Romano snapped.  “You won your fucking war, didn’t you? You did it by shooting my little brother in the leg while he couldn’t even defend himself!  You kept Japan tied to a chair! Don’t you dare talk to me like you have the moral high ground, you spineless, heartless—put me down, I’m not finished!”

“Yes you are,” Spain grunted as Romano did his best to break free.

“Please, let’s not fight,” Russia implored, clutching his broom to his chest.  “We’re all here for the same reasons, aren’t we? One of our own is missing. It’s a terrible situation,” he said, deeply troubled.  “Perhaps we can help each other. I bet China and I can answer your questions, even if we’ve already cleaned up. How about it?”

Everyone else reluctantly quieted down and fell into some semblance of civility.  “Alright,” China sighed. “If you really want to help find him, ask your questions.”

There was another bout of tense quiet before Spain began, “How’s Prussia doing?”

Russia blinked up at him in surprise and sympathy.  “I think you should ask something else,” he quietly replied.

France very much wished that Spain hadn’t asked, and he quickly set about filling the melancholy with the first question that came to his mind.  “That’s Japan’s blood on the floor, isn’t it?”

“It seems that way,” China dryly replied.  “Before I started cleaning it, it was spread out in flecks, like it was spat out or coughed up.”

“Japan must have been very sick from the bombing,” Russia tutted.

“Yikes,” said Spain, grimacing at the stain on the floor.  “At least he wasn’t stabbed or anything, right?”

“Not in the house, at least,” China agreed.  “There wasn’t enough blood for that.”

“So he was taken alive,” said Romano.  “Japan would have put up one hell of a fight if someone tried to take him against his will.  The rest of the house, though… it’s all clean. Nothing’s really out of place.”

“Hey, you’re right,” Italy chimed in.  “You don’t think he went willingly, do you?  I mean, it would be better if he was with someone he trusted, I think, but still, that doesn’t seem right to me.”

Russia shook his head.  “Maybe he was too weak to fight back, and somebody took him away without a struggle.”

Italy shivered at the thought of it.  “Who would have done something like that, though?”

“The question of ‘who’ is a complicated one,” China sighed.  “Nearly every nation could have some sort of motivation for this--even you,” he added, pinning the lot of them under his watchful gaze.  “It’s hard to rule anybody out.”

“Why don’t we all look around some more and see if we can find a trace of who was here with Japan when he went missing?” Russia suggested before anybody could become too indignant at China’s remark.  “China and I can keep on cleaning while you all have a look around. Good luck!” Russia hurried off, then, broom in tow. 

“Might as well look,” Spain shrugged, wandering into the hallway after Romano left to take another look at Japan’s kitchen.

France, on the other hand, busied himself with trying to look nonchalant while he kept an eye on Italy in the office.

Italy spent a minute perusing Japan’s things as China continued to scrub at the floor.  When he looked past all the chaos, Italy found that the room was actually quite charming.  Plenty of books and trinkets adorned the tidy shelves. He wondered what the calligraphy hanging on the walls meant.  It must be something serious, he imagined--serious, yet motivational. That suited Japan. He promised himself to ask Japan about it the next time they saw each other.

There were all sorts of other pretty little things around the room.  Italy was sure the shrivelled flowers on the floor had once been a lovely touch.  An ornate fan covered in hand-painted chrysanthemums was propped up against something on the desk.  When Italy picked it up to examine it more closely, he found beneath it a wood carving of a dog that he instantly recognized.

“China,” he abruptly called over.  “Where’s Pochi?”

China ceased his scrubbing.  “I’ve been watching him at my house,” he said, and his brows creased in concern.  “He doesn’t eat much. He won’t even touch his toys. I think he knows there’s something wrong,” he sighed.

“Maybe he’s homesick,” France lightly suggested.

“Could be,” China agreed.  “I would have taken him back here for a visit, but for some reason, he’s terrified of Russia.  He went and hid once he realized Russia was with me, so I just left him be.”

“Huh,” said Italy, frowning.  “To be fair, I would be scared of Russia too if I was as tiny as Pochi.”

“You’re already terrified of Russia,” France pointed out.  China snickered.

“Speaking of Russia,” said Italy hurriedly.  “Which way did he go?” 

China smirked up at him and asked, “Why?  Are you trying to avoid him?” Before Italy had time to decide if he should lie and deny it, China admitted, “I didn’t see which way he went.”

“France?” Italy anxiously prompted.

“Not a clue,” said France, working to hide his amusement.

Italy stifled a groan and decided to pick a direction and hope.  Hope, he quickly learned, was not sufficient to repel Russia.

“Italy!” Russia exclaimed, hurrying up to him.  He had abandoned his broom. “France, come quickly!  I’ve found something!”

“What is it?” France asked.

“Maybe you can confirm this for me,” said Russia, excitedly ushering them forward.  “But I believe I’ve found an American coin.” Spain, Romano, and China were quick to follow Russia’s anxious tone to the source, and soon, everyone was gathered around a shiny coin that had somehow found itself on the floor in front of Japan’s bedroom.  “Well?” Russia insisted. “Is that not an American coin?” 

France snatched the coin from the floor and squinted at it in the dim light of the hall.  “It certainly is,” he affirmed, frowning deeply. “A quarter, minted in… 1916. What is this doing here?”

“You think America did this?” Spain asked Russia.

“I have no idea,” said Russia.  “But it certainly is suspicious.  Japan gets bombed by America, and now, here’s this coin.”

There was a tense beat of silence before China said, “Hold on.  Japan has a habit of collecting coins. That might have come from his collection.”

“It probably did,” France was quick to agree.

“But what’s it doing on the floor?” Romano asked doubtfully.

“Japan sweeps, like, every day,” Italy reminded everyone.  “If he dropped it here, it would have had to have been the same day he went missing.”

“I would agree,” said China, darkening by the moment.  “Maybe we should ask America about this.”

“You’re right!” Italy exclaimed.  “We should go over there right now and--”

“We’re not going anywhere except back home,” France sternly interrupted him, ignoring Italy’s look of betrayal.  “If we don’t leave soon, we won’t be back before nightfall. I can’t risk taking you two anywhere else.”

Romano huffed and said, “You can’t be serious!  You can’t make us go back now that we know where Japan is!” 

“You’re not even supposed to be here!” France retorted.  “I will absolutely not march you over to America so that you can throw your accusations at him!”

“Oh, what, so you’re taking his side?” Romano bit out.  “Why am I not surprised?”

“We can’t just stop now!” Italy desperately added.

France wouldn’t hear it.  “I’m taking you both home this instant, and if you don’t come along, I’ll-- I’ll--” He pressed together his lips in his pinched, red face and shouted, “I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll think of something, and you won’t like it!”

Romano scowled at him and said, “Spain, come on, talk some sense into him!”

The set of Spain’s jaw betrayed his answer before he ever spoke.  “You should listen to him. He’s really sticking his neck out for you even letting you be here in the first place.”  It was clear even he didn’t want to hear what he was saying. “Someone else will look for Japan. You two need to come back home with us.”

“He’s right,” said China.  There was a determined glint in his eyes.  “I’m going to see America as soon as possible.”

Russia nodded sagely and said, “I believe I’ll go with you.”

“You leave him alone!” France demanded, suddenly unleashing his fury on China instead.  “You said yourself that that quarter might have been here all along! You have nothing but circumstantial evidence against America!”

“I believe you were on your way out,” China impatiently reminded him, gesturing towards the door.

France scowled deeply and began ushering his wards out the door.  “You’re going to start another war,” he muttered quite bitterly to nobody in particular.

The walk home was much less cheerful than the journey there had made out to be.  Italy spent the better half of it dodging the hateful glares and remarks with which Romano kept trying to stab France and Spain, although he couldn’t help but catch a few of them himself despite his best efforts.  

Once they arrived back in Italy, Romano loudly shut himself in his home without any prompting whatsoever.  Spain let out a subdued breath. “He’ll cool off soon,” he told France and Italy. “Don’t worry.”

It was clear to Italy that Spain meant to comfort himself most of all, but he refrained from saying so.  Instead, he turned to France and meekly suggested, “If you come by tomorrow to pick up that loaf of bread for Germany, I’ll have something nice for you, too.”

Rather than the exhausted scowl he’d expected, France faced Italy with an equally weary smile.  “Thank you, Feli,” he sighed, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then.”

Spain scooped him up in a hug and whispered, “Go easy on old Francis.  He’s doing his best.” 

Italy nodded into Spain’s shoulder and whispered, “Don’t be a stranger.”  When Spain released him, Italy smiled warmly back at both him and France. He kept up the warmth and a pleasant wave goodbye until the moment the they locked him inside the dark solitude of his house once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting all year for a new chapter! The holidays have given me plenty of time to hammer out more details for the future of this fic, and I'm very excited. I'd love to know your theories about what's going on here, or tell us your resolutions, if you made any this year!  
> Chrysanthemums have appeared in this series before, and as some of you may know, 'Kiku' is another word for the flower. Sometimes, it's a funeral flower. Other times, it can mean longevity. So that's interesting.  
> If you haven't already, go read the fic Kai wrote as a bonus chapter for this series, "Christmas 1942". You can find it as part 3.  
> May your warm beverages never run cold!  
> -Jay
> 
> I’m a coin collector and have coins from around the world as well, including yen, euros, and rubles. I also have a dime minted in 1916, if you were wondering where that random year came from. I like to think that Japan and I have a similar interest in collecting foreign coins.  
> That is all.  
> ~Kai


	5. A Loaf of Bread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be very busy for the next while, what with school starting up again very soon, so you all get this chapter a little early. Enjoy!  
> -Jay

Work was a blessing.  There was something pure about the repetition of it, something paradoxical in the way it took the whole mind, and yet numbed it just as wholly.  Germany savored each blueprint that rolled across his desk. If he was improving the wiring of some odd piece of sound equipment, he couldn’t be dwelling on his misery.  If he was teasing out the flaws in the arrangement of a camera’s inner mechanisms, he couldn’t be vexed by the troublesome arrangement of the parts of his own heart.

Yes, work was a sacred thing.

It was a shame that he was already out of it.  England and America had given him a dozen blueprints to revise and seven days to do it.  When provided with absolutely nothing better to do, seven days to finish a job was an eternity and a half.  Germany had never been one to leave a job unfinished, and so he took the liberty of looking going over his work twice more before declaring it acceptably thorough.  

He declared this to his dogs at approximately four in the morning.  They were all very happy for him. He was sure the bird would have shared the sentiment, but he had been sleeping at the time, and so Germany had resolved to tell him later.

With three days worth of void to fill, Germany undertook such riveting tasks as reorganizing his sock drawer, cleaning out his cupboards, dusting the mantel, giving Aster a belly rub, re-dusting the mantel, sweeping all the floors, mopping all the floors, redecorating his bedroom, and sweeping again, just in case.

That left him two more days. 

He could survive this, he told himself.  Boredom wouldn’t kill him. Probably. People were always telling him he worked too much, anyway.  Italy had told him that all the time. That may have only been partly because he had been trying to sabotage him.  It was still very likely true, however, as Japan had also told him with relative frequency that he might benefit from a relaxing visit to his hot springs.  It might help you relieve your stress, Mr. Germany, he had said. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you sleep, Mr. Germany, he’d probably meant. That had been years ago.  Germany was confident that the sentiment still stood.

He wondered why nobody had ever chastised his brother that way.  Prussia had worked just as hard as Germany, perhaps even more. Maybe it was that Germany simply gave off the impression that he didn’t know how to relax.  Germany could relax. He knew how to relax and enjoy himself. Just because he didn’t make a habit of having loud get-togethers with his friends in his free time didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to have fun.  The fact that he no longer had any friends with whom to loudly get together should he so choose was beside the point. Germany had plenty of fun. Reading manuals was fun. Looking over his finances was fun. Cleaning his house was a regular delight.  Germany oozed fun.

Yes, Germany thought, staring up at his ceiling.  He was having a whale of a time.

“Do you think they’ve forgotten about me?” Germany idly asked the bird that had been left in his care.  The bird ruffled his feathers at him and hopped to another corner of his new cage. “No, no, you’re right,” said Germany.  “There are still soldiers outside. They wouldn’t have bothered keeping soldiers out here if they’d forgotten-- that makes no sense,” he concluded with a shake of his head.  “I’m not making any sense.” He paused. “I’m conversing with a canary.” He further considered this and added, “Gil did it all the time, so I can’t be that bad off.” 

Suddenly remembering that his brother was likely not the best metric for sanity, he decided to lay off talking to animals for a while.  

It took all of his self-control not to run to the door when someone finally knocked on his door a couple of days later.  His dogs, on the other hand, had no such qualms with making a quivering rush to the door, expecting a walk. Germany quietly told them to sit and made himself count to ten before moving to the door himself.  He couldn’t let his captors know he was desperate for company. “Come in,” he finally called, and France stepped inside with a puff of fresh air.

“Ah, France,” Germany stated, his eyes lingering on the loaf of bread cradled in his arms.  “So it’s you.”

“You seem surprised,” France replied, smiling down at the dogs, who couldn’t decide whether or not they should growl at the strange visitor in their living quarters.

Germany ushered him inside with a short laugh.  “I will admit, you aren’t who I was expecting--but then, England and America aren’t exactly fond of knocking, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.”

“No, I know exactly what you mean,” France cordially replied, stepping where Germany gestured, although he stopped short of the offered chair.  “I won’t be in long,” he told him with a shake of his head. “I only have a little delivery for you, you see. Don’t ask me why,” he started to explain, “but Italy decided to bake you some bread.  I agreed to deliver it for him, so here it is.”

“Oh,” said Germany, taking the proffered loaf in his bewilderment.  Faint warmth still rolled off it, along with the unmistakable perfume of freshly-baked bread.  “I would thank you,” Germany cautiously told him, “but recent days have taught me to ask for the price of charity before accepting it.” 

“You’re very prudent, but there is no catch this time.  Although…” France seemed to be heavily debating his next words.  “Listen,” he breathed, examining his fingernails. “I wouldn’t eat too much of that at once, if I were you.  Maybe just-- just savor it,” France advised, nodding-- but then he glanced up at Germany and added, “Or eat it all at once.  That’s up to you.” Before Germany could begin to express his doubt, France turned to go. “It’s probably best if nobody knows I’ve been here, so I believe I’ll be taking my leave before anyone else drops by.”

“Wait,” Germany hesitantly called out.  France raised an eyebrow at him over his shoulder.  “Erm-- assuming this loaf of bread isn’t riddled with razor blades or something-- would you thank Italy for me?” 

“I won’t be your messenger bird,” said France very seriously.  “However, if the opportunity arises, I might remember to tell him for you, assuming you haven’t since died a horrible death or two.”

“I’m eternally grateful,” said Germany with a resigned sigh, and then France left him with his loaf of bread and a dubious growling in his stomach.

It didn’t help that the loaf was still so warm and enticing.  The smell of fresh-baked bread always made his mouth water, and even though he was more than a little suspicious that there might be cyanide in this particular loaf, half of him wondered if it might be worth it for a slice or two.  After all, there was something special about Italian bread that Germany could never manage to replicate in his own baking.

Certainly even cyanide tasted fine if you added butter and garlic, he reasoned.

Germany took a minute to set out extra food and water for his animals, just in case.  Then, he found his bread knife, said a little prayer, and cut the loaf down the middle.  The crust was hard enough to provide a little resistance, but his knife broke through to the fluffy center, gliding effortlessly until--

Thunk.

He wiggled the knife, tapped it against the object once more just to be certain that  he hadn’t imagined it. Entirely sure that bread was meant to be a boneless affair, he set aside his knife and very carefully dug his fingers into the loaf.  The special ingredient was too round to be a razor blade, he was relieved to discover, and so he tugged the little object the rest of the way out and set it on the table.

It was a shotgun shell.

Germany’s stomach clenched.  Had Italy sent this as some sort of threat?  It seemed so unlike him-- but Italy had all sorts of new friends, Germany thought.  Perhaps they were influencing him in unfortunate ways. Germany took the shell in his hand again rolled it pensively in his palm.  It was too light to have any gunpowder left in it. He decided to shake it, and when he did, something clicked dully against the inside of it.

With hurried fingers, Germany set about popping open the shotgun shell.  A piece of paper fell out into his palm the moment he pried off the seal.  It had been folded so many times it looked something like a bent cigarette.  With a dumbfounded shake of his head, Germany unfolded the note and found a familiar piece of stationery covered with Italy’s unmistakably wiry scrawl.  Several lines had been scratched out, though not illegibly so, and the ink was smudged around the creases. Germany pressed his reading glasses to his face and examined the note.  

 

~~_Dear_ ~~ _~~Ludwig~~ _ _ Germany, _

~~_You told me not to call you Ludwig anymore, so I_~~ _Sorry if you choked on the canister or hurt a tooth or something. I had to hide the message somehow without it getting all soggy in the dough.  Nobody knows about this, not even France. Don’t share any bread with him from now on!_ _~~Also he kind of thinks I’m trying to poison you with it so~~ __he might not ask in the first place._

_ This paper is pretty small, so I’ll get right to it.   _ ~~_ Kiku _ ~~ _ Japan has been missing for days. Not sure if you knew, but thought you should.  America bombed Japan, but Russia invaded around the same time. Me and Roma and France and Spain went looking for clues.  Russia found an American coin at Japan’s house while he and China were cleaning up all the blood. China’s watching Pochi and everybody else.  I hope somebody finds Japan. I’m really worried. America and England don’t seem like they care that he’s gone. They won’t let us go look for him.  I want to help, but they won’t even let us leave home without an escort. I’m not supposed to be talking to you either, but this is important. _

_ I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull this off again, or if you even got this message.  Maybe you can try to get some information out of America or England or somebody? I have no idea how you could tell me what you find though, so I won’t expect a reply.  Don’t call me.  _ _~~It’s not that I don’t want to talk to~~   _ _   My phone is tapped.  Do what you can. I know you kind of hate me now, but Japan still matters to you, right?  Do it for him.  _

~~_ I’m sorry about _ ~~

~~_ I hope you can forgive _ ~~

_ I didn’t poison the bread. _

_ Feli _

 

Germany read the note over and over, less sure of his feelings with each pass, and it was not until he had devolved into a state of complete emotional paralysis that he heard his door open for the second time that day.

“Germany!” America called from the next room.  It was difficult to hear him over the eruption of barking that he’d provoked.  “Hey, Germany! Where are you?” Germany jammed the note and the shotgun shell into his pocket a single frantic heartbeat before America poked his head into the kitchen.  “There’s my favorite business associate!” said America, wearing the same blinding grin as always, even in spite of the dogs baring their teeth at him. “How’s it going? Did you finish looking over those blueprints yet?”  Before Germany could even open his mouth to reply, America added, “Why are you so red?”

“Erm,” said Germany, scrambling for an answer.  He hadn’t even realized he was red. The heat on his face was secondary to the whirring in his head.  “Heel!” he blurted out, and the dogs at once quieted. That was better. “America,” he said, clearing his throat.  “To answer your question, yes, I’ve looked over all the blueprints you and England provided me. Most of them were fairly adequate, but I managed to make improvements on each of them, like you asked.”

“Fantastic!” America beamed.  “Hey, how about we take your dogs on a little adventure to celebrate?”

 By ‘little adventure’, Germany quickly discovered, America had meant a short walk down the street and back.  The dogs weren’t complaining however, and neither would Germany. It was the most exercise he had managed since the last time he had been outside, and on top of that, America’s incessant talking gave him half a chance to gather his thoughts-- although his feelings would take much more time to sort out.

“You know, America,” he said as they turned back towards his house.  “As business associates, I believe it might be best if we got to know each other a little better.”

“Not a bad idea, Germany!” America exclaimed.  “I’ll ask you a question, you ask me one-- what do you say?”

“After you,” Germany offered with a gracious nod.

America made quite a show of conjuring up a question.  “Hmm,” he hummed. “Let’s see… What do you think of…” He screwed up his face before declaring, “I got it!  What do you think of Russia?”

Germany fell into pensive silence.  “Well,” he began. “Russia is certainly-- Cold is the best word I can think of to describe him.  Distant. It’s almost like he doesn’t think he’s one of us. I don’t know. He’s-- He’s odd.”

This answer seemed to please America.  “Yeah, I totally agree. He’s a real weirdo.  I’m glad I don’t have to work with him anymore.”  He smiled to himself for a few paces. “So,” he said, abruptly turning back to Germany.  “What is it that you want to know about me?”

There were several things that Germany thought to ask.  He wanted to know what America and England needed such odd blueprints for.  Curiosity told him to ask why America had wanted to know his opinion of Russia, but the letter in his pocket was begging quite a different question.  “You asked me what I thought of Russia,” said Germany. “So, what do you think of Japan?”

Something bitter lurched across America’s face so quickly Germany had to wonder whether or not it had been a trick of the light.  “We used to be friends,” America admitted after a pause. That was more of an answer than Germany had expected, and he was even more impressed when America continued.  “I guess that’s something we have in common. Ex-friends of Japan.”

It was true-- Germany and Japan hadn’t been on pleasant terms the last time they had spoken-- but America’s words hurt nonetheless.

“My government and his government are arranging a trade deal soon, I think,” America went on, heedless of Germany’s pain.  “Maybe it’ll make him a little healthier.”

“Why would he need to be healthier?” Germany pried.

“You did just lose a war,” America replied.  Then, he laughed, quick and mirthless. “You know, Germany, it’s funny.” 

“I can’t say I agree with you,” Germany sourly growled.

“Oh, no, not the war thing,” America laughed.  “No, there’s nothing funny about war. Nothing at all, just-- think about it.  Our Bosses do whatever they want, and they don’t think about how it affects us.  Wars. Trade deals. None of it matters, right? They just do whatever, and-- and that would make you think, maybe all we can trust is each other.  Just other nations,” said America. He seemed desperate, somehow, but Germany couldn’t parse out why. “‘Cause who really gets it like one of your own, right?  Then you realize, you can’t even trust nations. We’re all just looking out for ourselves, because nobody else will. You can’t trust your superiors not to stab you in the back, can’t trust your equals not to twist the knife-- but you know all about that, don’t you buddy?” he finished with a jovial grin, slapping Germany on the back.

It cost Germany quite a bit of effort to keep his voice level.  “Before I forget to ask,” he said, “Do you have more work for me?”

“Back to business, huh?” said America, carelessly guiding Germany through the soldiers back to his house.  “Alright, business associate, I can respect that. I’m only here to collect the work you’ve already done. The old man should be around sooner or later to give you round two.  Don’t worry, we won’t be running out of work for you any time soon.”

“So it never ends,” Germany sighed, doing his best to sound put-upon.  “Very well. Come back inside with me and I’ll give them to you.”

“Thanks a million!” said America, still grinning.  As America followed him and his dogs inside and collected the blueprints, chattering and laughing all the way out the door, Germany found himself thinking his own funny thought: for as much as America claimed to dislike Russia, it was certainly very odd that they both wore the same smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially started my student teaching and it’s fun and fulfilling but very tiring. I’m very tired.  
> Thanks for continued support and good luck this semester for those starting up again.  
> -Kai


	6. Barbed Wire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: If you're easily troubled by reading about panic attacks, be careful towards the middle of this chapter! If not, enjoy with wanton abandon.

Darkness covered him like a shroud, speckled with the faintest pricks of light-- a microcosm of space contained within nothing.  Some of the light shone warm, familiar. Some of it, however, was strange, nearly alien in its ghostly glowing. Warm or cold, there was one factor all the light shared: it hurt.

Now and again, the light murmured to Japan where he rested in his cocoon.  Uncertain flashes flickered in the darkness as frightened bursts of color, as red shuddering away until it faded into oblivion, as soft whimpers of blue and white.  The fear might have been his, except he was far too tired to be afraid. Much too tired. The light hurt. He curled away from it.

Japan drifted in the twilight between awareness and oblivion for longer than he was able to comprehend, without harbor, without direction.  Time had lost all weight; darkness, though it engulfed him, had been stripped of its terror.

It was the light that held fear.

The light hurt.

Blinks of warmth evolved gradually into the rustle of whispers--were they truly voices?  The light still groaned and shuddered in its dread. Japan would have felt glad that the fear did not belong to him, except gladness and feeling had escaped him, too.  All that was left was the ever-growing light and its keening.

The scream of light grew louder, louder still, an unfathomable boom beginning to blot out the darkness.  The darkness was safety. It was stability and the tranquility of nothing. Japan clung to it for as long as he could, but the searing light far overpowered his weakness.  The first thing he felt beyond the burning pain of the light was fear, and the first thing he heard after the light devoured him whole was a voice.

It was familiar, warm, and yet troubled.  Confusion settled over him. What was Prussia doing in such a painful place?  Had his voice come from the darkness, or from the light? Wherever it had come from, it slipped away from Japan’s feeble grasp.  He had only just come into himself. His grip on the world was only a fragile thing. 

“You’re not going to die again, are you?”

Japan drew himself inward, knowing for certain nothing but that his skin hurt.  Everything else hurt, too, but his skin was the barrier holding all the pain inside his body.  Ache gathered on it like a film of sweat.

“At least you aren’t screaming anymore,” came the murmur.  Japan knew that voice. It wasn’t Prussia’s at all. He didn’t have the strength left to recognize anything but that it filled him with dread, and he couldn’t even remember why.  He tried to go back to that calm, dark place he had been before, but the darkness had abandoned him in the light and its agony.

It took Japan several sluggish minutes to discern his whereabouts when he at last opened his eyes.  A light that had been burning in the center of his vision collected itself as a candle. He blinked away from it.  His eyes pounded, the flame’s negative still dancing wherever he looked. It flitted up to the ceiling, darting over the white throb of the candlelight, heedless of the cobwebs and cracks that decorated the hazy corners of the lonely room.

Japan found it easier to let the ghost of the flame play in the darkness behind his eyelids for a while.  Pointlessly, he chased it until it faded completely from his sight. He sighed weakly in the exhaustion that the game had produced.  He tried to doze, but his bone-deep pain followed him to the very edges of his consciousness. There were questions demanding his attention, all clamoring over each other so that Japan couldn’t understand a single one.  It was a waking fever dream inside his mind. If he could have closed his eyes twice over, he would have done it. He ached for a place he couldn’t quite remember. Perhaps it had been a dream. Yes, he decided. He must have awoken from some very peaceful dream, and then been thrust into the chaos in his head.  He felt like a child again, still vainly clinging to sleep after China had ripped away his blankets after he’d slept too long.

But how long had he been asleep?  Rather, Japan corrected himself, how long had he been dead?  And he  _ had _ been dead.  The ice jutting around in his bloodstream was proof enough of that.  There should have been a deep pit in his soul for all that ice to fall into, but the core of him was filled up with so much soreness that there wasn’t any room left for the cold or the emptiness.  He had no idea why he ached. All he knew was that he wanted to be numb, if even only just long enough to clear his head. 

Japan went searching into the fog of his memory for some clue as to what had happened to him, and he held fast to the first solid thread of the thought he came across.  They had lost the war. Yes-- first, Italy had betrayed them--

Something was wrong about that thought.  It wasn’t a new thought. In fact, it had crossed Japan’s mind nearly every day since it had happened.  Nor was it an incorrect thought. Italy had surrendered and joined the other side. That was betrayal in every sense of the word.  Italy had betrayed them. It was the truth. Why did the thought suddenly feel so wrong?

It was his anger, Japan realized.  There had always been a fire sparked inside Japan whenever those words had echoed around in his head before, but there was nothing like that inside of him now.  No, there was only pain and regret, now.

Japan knew he couldn’t ruminate on this.  He still didn’t know why he had died, never minding the fact that he didn’t even know where he was.

He made himself try again.  They had lost the war. Germany had been forced to surrender.  So had Japan. He had fought tooth and nail against that fate, but it had been his fate nonetheless.  He remembered resenting Germany for not trying harder to resist defeat. He remembered feeling like the only man left on earth who knew the meaning of the word ‘dignity’, and feeling simultaneously more humiliated and forsaken than he had ever felt before.  

Japan had been forced to surrender and prepare for his future imprisonment at the hands of his enemies.  It was much too inconvenient for them to keep tabs on him if he remained at home, and so he was being forced out.  Where he was supposed to have been sent, they never said. Those days of preparation had been bitter and sleepless.  His superiors had all but forgotten him in their frantic efforts to delay the inevitable. They had provided him no assistance in making his arrangements-- in fact, they had ignored him.  Every call he had made after the end of the war had gone unanswered. A small, resentful part of Japan had wondered if their neglect of him had been some sort of punishment for his failure.  Figuring out what would be done with his responsibilities and possessions in his absence had been stressful enough without the maddening cycle of wondering back and forth between whether his superiors knew he would be gone, or if they even cared what happened to him at all.

He had finally cracked under the pressure several days before he was meant to be arrested, when he had realized that he didn’t know anyone at all anymore that he could trust to take care of Pochi while he was gone.  There was nobody left for him to trust, nowhere left for him to go, and not a shred of hope left inside of him. He would be imprisoned and forced into servitude under someone who despised him. Even after that, he would be alone again, friendless, just like he had been in the beginning.  Decades of misery were all he had left ahead of him.

Nobody had been around to see him start to hyperventilate, to watch him sink to the floor into a fit of desperate tears, choked into silence as he gasped for breath.  The whole world seemed to have fallen in on top of him all at once, and he had been certain it would crush him. That hadn’t been the thing that killed him, although he had worried that he would die there in a pathetic heap on his floor, drowned by his own pointless hysteria.  He had picked himself up off the floor after an hour, feeling very pointless himself, and made himself a cup of tea. He decided that he might be able to convince China to look after his dog, if he could manage to send the last of his pride to the grave and beg him a favor. There had always been a sort of understanding among nations, after all.  One’s pets were sometimes the only friends they had. Surely Japan could persuade China into some sort of deal if he offered him a sweet enough bargain. China would understand. He had to.

But Japan had never gotten to make those arrangements, he realized.  He had died before he had ever gotten the chance. He dug deeper into his memories for whatever had killed him, starting with the tea he had made that day.  He had prepared the tea-- that alone had done wonders for his nerves-- and then he had gone to check his notebook for any smaller tasks that had escaped his notice.

The string of memories began to grow broken and jagged here, and holding onto it became more like gripping barbed wire the further he followed it.  Pain seeped into his memory until every thought was tinged with it. He remembered agony, dread, terror as he stumbled and staggered around his home.  He had been searching for his phone, but he didn’t think he had made it. There had been blood. Blood and torment and fear were all he could discern in the shattered fragments of his memory beyond this point.

Japan stubbornly pressed further into the shards, despite how it hurt, fervently seeking answers.  He found much of the same, just more blood and the sensation that he was being strangled from the inside, until--

There had been someone behind him.  Someone had been standing over him as he writhed there on the floor of his office.  He had given out a choked cry for help, although whether he wanted this person to save him, or to be saved from this person, he couldn’t tell.  Nor could he discern who it was who had been looming over him, who had taken him into their arms. His vision had been blurry then, and the memory itself was blurrier still.

Deeply unsettled, Japan tried to sit up in the bed where he now lay, but all he could manage was to turn himself over on his side.  The candle was still there, casting its wobbly light into the rest of the tiny room. It had evidently been there for a long time. Melted wax had dripped down it and cemented it to the nightstand.

Beside the candle was a glass of water and a tiny brown bottle of what Japan could only guess was some sort of medicine.  While it was possible that he had already been dosed with it several times in his sleep, he elected to save it for when he knew what exactly it was.  Instead, he sent his arm on its shaky journey towards the water. The last remnants of death in his limbs caused his muscles to strain and wobble, and by the time his fingers found the cool glass, he was doubtful that he’d even be able to bring the cup to his lips.  He hardly managed to lift the glass an inch above the table before water began to slip over the lip of the cup and onto his fingers. 

Japan hurriedly replaced the glass and withdrew his hand to wipe it on the thin blanket that covered him.  His mouth was horribly dry. His throat was raw. The water would have helped immensely. It was so close to him, and yet he lacked the strength to even drink it.  He tried not to dwell on the feeling of helplessness that had sprouted roots within him, and he instead set about investigating the rest of the room.

It could have been a closet, for all he knew.  There were no windows, and the bed took up much of the space within it.  Besides the nightstand, the only other pieces of furniture were a rickety wooden chair and an equally sorry-looking wardrobe.  Everything had dust hanging off it, even the cobwebs.

He cast his eyes to the door.  Beneath the worn brass doorknob, a prick of light glimmered through the keyhole.  Japan wondered if he had been locked in, and he was once again reminded of his powerlessness when he realized that he probably wouldn’t make it the short distance to the door if he tried to get up and check.

Whoever had taken him away didn’t seem to mean him any harm, he told himself, willing himself not to be overcome by his apprehension.  If they cared enough to leave him water, they would be back reasonably soon. Japan would have his answers if he just waited, he was sure.  He would know where he was and what had killed him. He just had to be patient and wait out the pain and the uncertainty there in that coffin of a room.  Japan only hoped that he when he found the answers to all his questions, they wouldn’t be answers that he would regret knowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week on Where's Waldo... I'd love to hear your theories about what's going on here!  
> I also just want to take a minute to say thank you all for being so supportive. It means a whole lot <3 Thank you all for going on this adventure with us!  
> -Jay


	7. The Lotus Blooms

By all rights, he should be dead.  They had done away with his land. They had burned his house down.  Russia had dragged him away to die on a creaky old mattress, all the while assuring him that he wouldn’t let him die alone-- not that Russia would listen when Prussia said he would rather die alone than let his last sight be Russia’s face.

It relieved Prussia greatly that Russia still had work to do in tying up the end of the war.  He spent the better part of most days holed up in his office while Prussia withered away. When Russia wasn’t checking in on him, it was usually Estonia who was bringing him water and booze.  That was fine by Prussia. Lithuania still had a grudge against him from their younger years, and seeing Latvia in such a dismal place only served to make Prussia depressed.

They had all been quite sure that Prussia was going to die.  His strength had slipped away from him with every passing hour.  Any day now, Prussia had whispered to himself. There were plenty of dead nations waiting for him on the other side, wherever that was.  He wondered if his brothers still remembered him, if his father had watched over him throughout the centuries, if he was proud of him. Prussia was ready to find out.  Yes, he was ready. Any day now.

In the last few days, he had truly begun to welcome the thought of death.  Life was preferable, sure, but death couldn’t be so bad if he wouldn’t have to deal with his never-ending cough anymore.  Never in an eternity would he miss coughing up blood with every few breaths, even if that meant he never drew another breath at all.  He had died plenty of times before. Doing it one last time would be a cinch.

And it had been.  He had closed his eyes, ignoring Russia hanging over him to instead think of his brother in his last moments.  He had raised Ludwig up to be strong and smart, and he had become all that and more. Sure, Ludwig had his fair share of obstacles to overcome, but he was going to sort out his future and lead a golden life.  Prussia had taken his final breath content that even amongst all the uncertainty and turmoil of nationhood, he had done at least one thing right.

For this reason, it had annoyed Prussia greatly when he had woken up a day later, still in Russia’s house and his stiff burial clothes.  He had gone shuffling out of his deathbed like a particularly vexed cockroach searching for something to eat, or perhaps a clock so that he could figure out whether to ask for breakfast or dinner.  Poor Estonia had screamed when Prussia had bumped into him.

That was how Prussia had found himself frowning over a bowl of broth, wondering why in the world he wasn’t dead.  He was better than not-dead, if he really thought about it. His cough was gone, as far as he could tell--good riddance to that-- and he didn’t feel like he was constantly running a fever anymore.  There was no denying that he still felt like garbage. Regeneration might have been an instant reboot for his body, but that didn’t make it any fun. It had the unpleasant side-effects of weakening his knees and putting him in a disagreeable temper for days afterwards-- not that he particularly minded this time around.  Whatever he had told himself before, he was sure now that it was good to be alive.

There was something unusual, though.  He was getting a head cold. He could feel it.  The soup wasn’t helping. Neither was his mood. Clearly he wasn’t allowed to live through a single day this century without being ill.  He was getting a cold--hell, he practically already had one--but that shouldn’t have been a consequence of his death. Rather, among nations, colds tended to be the result of a poor economy.  This would have made perfect sense to Prussia, given the circumstances. Botched war efforts usually weren’t great on the wallet. It really did make sense that he would have a cold, but there was one little detail that Prussia couldn’t ignore.

He didn’t have an economy anymore.

At least, he shouldn’t.  His nationhood had been dissolved.  He shouldn’t exist at all, and yet here he sat, sipping on the plainest bowl of broth that had ever been prepared for him.  Really, it was a step above boiled water. That might even be giving it too much credit. To be fair, he considered that he  _ had _ given Estonia a fright by not being as dead as originally planned.  The poor man didn’t look like his nerves could take much more anxiety than they already bore on a day to day basis, what with Russia--  

“Incredible.”

Prussia jerked his head up from his soup and his thoughts and found Russia hovering in the doorway, his brows knit.  “Yeah,” Prussia huffed, turning back to his bowl as dismissively as he could, given the pounding of his heart. “It’s really incredible that you don’t even have anything to throw into this soup.”

“Well, you didn’t starve to death,” Russia commented, brightening.  “That isn’t what killed you, but you certainly did die.”

“You would know,” Prussia grumbled.  “You kept staring at me while I did it.”

Russia soundly ignored him.  “You came back, though,” he said.  “You came back from the dead, even though you aren’t a nation anymore.  Or aren’t you?” Russia stepped fully through the door and sat himself across from Prussia, tenting his arms under his chin.  “Tell me,” he prompted him, eyes burning with curiosity. “Can you feel them?”

As much as Prussia resented Russia and his ominous wording, it irritated him even more that he had understood him perfectly.  “My people, you mean?” he asked anyway.

“ _ Any _ people,” Russia clarified, staring at Prussia so intensely that it made him shift in discomfort.

Perhaps this was the sensation lab rats got when placed under examination, Prussia thought.  “Yeah,” he hesitantly answered, throwing Russia a hooded glare for good measure. “I feel them.  Whoever they are. If I’m not a nation anymore, they can’t be mine, though, right?”

“Oh, no, they’re yours,” Russia insisted, grinning broadly, genuinely awed.  “I know what’s happening here. It’s incredible, really, just incredible-- I didn’t think it was possible--”

“Spit it out,” said Prussia, hating that Russia had figured out his situation before he had, and equally anxious to learn the answer.

“You’re a nation again,” Russia congratulated him.  “But not the same nation you were before. Prussia is dead, but you aren’t.”

“Quit talking in riddles and get to the point,” Prussia irritably urged him.

“Dissolution saved your life,” said Russia.  “Prussia had to die. It couldn’t have lasted much longer, but you-- you became the vessel,” he continued, a manic gleam in his eyes.  “You’re something new-- no,” Russia muttered. “No, you’re not yet finished, but you will be. You’re becoming something new!”

“You’re not making any sense,” Prussia warily informed him.

“Dissolution didn’t save your life.  I did!” Russia declared, a wild grin splitting his face in half.  “By dividing you, your people have started to form their own identity--they’ve started to form in you.  Without me, you’d be dead,” said Russia, his voice trailing off to a near whisper. “Welcome to the world of the living, East Germany,” he finished, still grinning.  “I think we’ll be very good friends.”

Prussia wanted nothing more than to fire back with some off-handed quip, but everything inside him had come to a standstill.  Was it true? Was he only breathing because his brother had been torn to pieces? “Whatever you say,” Prussia finally muttered, but he had hesitated too long for the remark to sting at all.

Russia still smiled at him.  “My new friend,” he said, nearing giddiness.  “We’ll have so much fun getting this place looking nice together, don’t you think, East Germany?”

“Don’t call me that,” Prussia grumbled.  “Or do you want to go by East Belarus, now?”

Russia’s smile fell into a grimace as he stated, “You’re very right.  My apologies. You aren’t East Germany-- not yet. In fact,” he went on, “I fear that if the plot of land where your soul resides ever went back to your brother, you might disappear entirely.  Your new people haven’t had time to convince themselves they’re really your people, yet, and I believe they’d abandon you at the first opportunity.” 

“You don’t know a damned thing about my people,” Prussia snapped.

“My,” Russia sighed with a piteous shake of his head.  “You’re so defensive of them, and yet you won’t even claim your new name.  Really, how could it offend you that they would reject you when you won’t even acknowledge them as your own?” 

A headache chiseled away at Prussia’s skull.  “Leave me alone,” he said, abandoning Russia and his cold soup at the table.  “Go talk circles around someone else.”

“I saved your life, and this is how you treat me,” said Russia through an incredulous,  disappointed huff of laughter. “That is fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Because today is your birthday, I’ll forgive you, East Germany.  But tomorrow, there will be work to do.” Russia stood from the table and crossed the room to give Prussia a slap on the back. Prussia grunted at him and shuffled away.  “Rest up, East Germany. There is always work to do in my house, and I expect you’ll be here a very long time.”

By the time Prussia glanced over his shoulder, Russia had already disappeared into the depths of his home.

Prussia spent the remainder of the day alone in the room that had been set aside for him, wondering at the fact that everything he had left to his name was there in plain view.  Everything else had been burned to the ground or thrown to the winds. They had allowed him to take a single suitcase with him, and it now lay open on a desk near the foot of his deathbed-- well, Prussia supposed.  It wasn’t his deathbed anymore, even if he was still wearing his burial clothes. He had stuffed three other sets of clothes besides the ones he wore into his suitcase. Now he wished he had packed more thoroughly, but then, he hadn’t expected to live much longer, either.

Buried just beneath his perfectly-folded garments were two books.  One of those was the journal that Italy had given him a short lifetime ago over Christmas.  War had made it difficult to fill, and he hadn’t thought he would ever have the chance to finish it.  He smiled faintly to himself, knowing he might yet live to see the last page filled.

The other book had been a spontaneous, heart-driven addition to his suitcase.  It was a collection of fairy tales so old that the pages had begun to fall loose from the spine.  Prussia enjoyed fairy tales, but that book was neither his favorite book, nor even the one that held the most sentimental value to him.  The only reason it had found its way into his suitcase was because it was the same book he had read to Holy Rome over the last weeks of his life, and Prussia had thought in a moment of nostalgia that he might as well do the same for himself.  He regretted the decision now, of course. There were plenty of other things that could have made better use of the space in his suitcase than an old book he had nearly memorized.

Pressed flat against the bottom of his suitcase, hidden from harm underneath the books, was a photograph of him and Germany.  The two of them were posed stone-faced in front of Germany’s brand new home, a black and white memory of the house that had since collected enough renovations and repairs to make it difficult to recognize as the same building.  Despite their grim faces, the picture never failed to make Prussia smile. Germany had designed that home all by himself in spite of Prussia’s peeking over his shoulder now and again to make sure that his baby brother had double-checked all his measurements.  He had even built a fair portion of the house without Prussia’s help. It had been a matter of pride for him, Prussia remembered. He had wanted to prove that he was ready to move out and live on his own.

The reason the photograph usually got a chuckle out of Prussia was that the very same evening, Germany had come knocking on his door asking for a cup of sugar. 

The only other thing that Prussia had thrown into his suitcase was his flute, disassembled into three pieces so that it would fit, and wrapped in his socks so that it wouldn’t get scratched.  Prussia had been under no illusion that he would ever play it again. His lungs hadn’t allowed him to practice in months. Still, the idea of his flute being auctioned off or melted in the fire had been one tragedy more than he could have borne.  Pondering this, Prussia quietly admitted to himself then that his flute had become something of a comfort item for him.

On a whim, he dug the old instrument out from his socks and assembled it.  He wondered if he had enough air in him now to produce a tune. The flute glittered at him.  Slowly, Prussia brought the instrument to his lips. For a long moment, he simply held it there, hesitant-- but then he drew in a breath and played a dawn carol as sweetly as though the music had never left him.

***

Prussia hated that he had nothing better to do than whatever chores Russia assigned him each day.  Likewise, he hated that he couldn’t bring himself to ever half-ass a cleaning job, no matter how much he didn’t want to be doing it.  He would spend an hour tidying one cold, abandoned bedroom only to find the next one twice as dusty. Russia hadn’t lied to him: there was always something that needed fixing or cleaning in that behemoth of a house.

The house was so large, in fact, that even after a week of working in it, Prussia still found himself getting lost in it.  When that happened, he usually picked a wall and followed it until he found something or someone he recognized. On one occasion, Lithuania had even begrudgingly led him back to familiar territory after scolding him the whole way about paying attention to his surroundings.

As hopelessly lost as he now was, Prussia was beginning to dread a repeat of that day’s events.  He’d found himself in the same parlor in some unfamiliar wing of the mansion at least three times, completely turned-around, all for the sake of a longer broom.  Those cobwebs up in the highest corners weren’t going to jump off the walls themselves. Prussia had found his broom, but when he had gone looking for the chamber he was meant to be cleaning, he had lost his way entirely.

He wasn’t even sure he was still on the right floor. 

When he at last caught a glimpse of Russia turning down a corridor, he immediately scurried after him, knowing that he would likely never be so happy to see Russia again.  He followed him at a distance down half a dozen more hallways before he found anything remotely familiar-- but there was something odd about Russia’s behavior that made Prussia keep tailing him, even past the areas he knew.

Russia seemed anxious about something.  It could have been excitement or nervousness in the hasty bounce of his step, but whatever it was, it was suspicious.  Prussia made certain that he crept along as silently as he could, and when Russia at last stopped and unlocked a room, Prussia held his breath as he approached, deathly quiet as he peered cautiously around the corner.

Russia stood over a bed much like the one Prussia had been given, his hand outstretched, two fingers pressed against Japan’s pale, lifeless neck.

“What the hell?”

Russia paused for a long moment before letting his hand drop, not sparing Prussia a glance.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Prussia demanded, stepping into the room despite his better judgement. 

At last, Russia turned to him, wearing the same tranquil smile he usually did.  “What are you doing here, East Germany? I thought I sent you to work upstairs today.”

Prussia’s eyes darted between Russia and the corpse of his friend.  “What happened to him? What’s Japan doing here?”

“He needs his rest,” said Russia.  “We should talk somewhere else. Not that you should be here in the first place.”  Prussia reluctantly allowed himself to be crowded out of the room, impatiently waiting as Russia locked it up behind him.  “Did you get lost again?” he asked, seemingly torn between amusement and sympathy at the thought.

“Quit dodging the questions!” Prussia furiously insisted  “What did you do to him? Tell me!”

“If you must know,” Russia evenly replied, “I rescued him.  America left him in quite a state, and all because he wouldn’t surrender-- it truly is reprehensible.”

Prussia glared at him, disbelieving.  “What are you talking about?”

“Our friend Japan is going to be staying here with us,” said Russia in lieu of a proper answer.  “The others sent him here to recover from America’s cruelty, just like they sent you here to die.  It is fortunate, is it not?” he asked, smiling warmly at Prussia. “We can all be together. I get to take care of everyone, and we can all work together to make this house as warm and beautiful as it should be.”

“I want to see to him,” Prussia pressed, stepping back towards the door.  “How long has he been here? How long have you been keeping him a secret?”

Russia’s shoulders sagged.  “You break my heart,” he said.  “My friend, I was planning on surprising you when he got well enough to speak to you.  He has been in a frightful state since he got here, and I didn’t want to trouble you with worry over him while you were still getting over your own rebirth.”

Rather than informing Russia yet again that he wasn’t his friend, Prussia repeated, “So why can’t I just go see him?”

“I told you,” said Russia, placing a hand on Prussia’s shoulder to guide him down the hallway.  “Japan needs his rest.” Russia’s grip tightened. “I would hate to see you disturbing him,” he added.  Prussia was sure he heard a threat buried within the concern Russia was showing him. “Now, let’s get you back to where you’re supposed to be,” said Russia, brightening.  “You shouldn’t feel bad for getting lost here, you know. I can’t tell you how many nations have lost themselves within these walls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And y'all thought it would be Sealand.  
> Seriously though, if any of you are unclear as to what exactly is going on here, just ask! There are probably at least a few things I can clear up for you without providing major spoilers. All will be explained in time, even America's fishy behavior.  
> The theories some of you came up with were really fun to think about! Keep the speculation coming!  
> You're all wonderful people. Stay hydrated.  
> -Jay
> 
> P.S. When asked for a desired co-author's note, Kai replied, "Ehhh," which I interpret to mean, "I am very cold and tired and have to go to class now. However, it delights me to imagine how much enthusiastic discourse we're going to cause with this chapter. The support we have gotten thus fair never ceases to astound me, and had I more time and energy, I would gladly and lovingly craft a message to our dearest readers. Alas, I must go. Tallyho!" My interpretation might be slightly off due to dialectical differences between us, but I'm pretty sure that was the gist of it.


	8. What Money Can Buy

Glossy finish, chrome blinking back the sun, sparkling hubcaps, cherry red paint, fresh off the line-- this was a fine vehicle.  America slid onto the bench, letting his hand run along the bright white leather seat first, and then admiring the polished steering wheel under his calloused palms.  The aroma of new upholstery filled him with one deep inhale. Crystal clear glass in the windshield, the needle on ‘F’, and the radio tuned to his favorite station.

America had awoken to find a strange car in the driveway with a note pinned under the wipers.

_ The key is in your letterbox.  You earned it. _

The car was downright beautiful.  As much as America had loved his old car, this one put it to shame in every possible way.  He could drive it all day if he wanted, flying anywhere and nowhere, knowing that he had been gifted the very finest automobile an American could hope to own.

What a swell distraction his Boss had given him.

He should have been insulted.  They thought he was a child whose attention they could easily divert with a new toy.  He knew what his leaders had chosen. He knew they had never asked him, but cleaning up the mess they had left was his burden all the same.  He should have been insulted, but he just felt sick instead. 

The trimmings glimmered like fresh tears around paint as red as innocent blood, and America couldn’t meet his own eyes in the mirror. 

_ You earned it. _

He twisted the dial that would make the music scream louder than the groaning in his soul, and then he laid his head back and closed his eyes.  His leaders, they told him that everything they did was for his own good. It was for the good of his people, even if they hadn’t given him a choice.  They couldn’t have given him a choice, they had said. No, America thought. That would be democracy. That would be the way things were supposed to be, but things were never allowed to be the way they were meant to be.  How often had his leaders, past and present, gone and done things without consulting him? How much was still a secret to him? 

And now a fellow nation was missing.  Perhaps it shouldn’t matter to him. Japan had been his enemy.  It shouldn’t matter that he had also been his friend. He shouldn’t care.  Every eye was on him, piercing through him to the guilt and the sickness in his gut.  He couldn’t care. It wasn’t his fault. Even if he couldn’t help but suspect his very own people, it wasn’t his fault.  There was nothing he could have done about it, nothing he could do now except live a life of suspicion and mistrust, and what sort of life was that?

He already knew, he blankly thought.  It was the life he had been living since the end of the war, and he couldn’t see anything changing soon.

Two people rushed into the car, one on either side of him, and his eyes snapped wildly open.  

“This is a very nice car you have, America,” said China from his right.

“Your music is a little loud, though,” Russia added from the left.  “Don’t you think?” 

China wrenched America’s gun out of his hand and turned it back around on him before America had even realized he’d drawn it.  “We wouldn’t want to get blood on the upholstery, now would we?” China calmly asked him.

America swallowed.  “I’d like to avoid that,” he casually remarked, staring down the barrel of his gun.  “Why don’t we put away the pea shooter and have a civilized conversation, huh? How about it?” he asked, putting on his most disarming smile.  

“You were the one who drew the gun,” China reminded him.  Nevertheless, he tossed the gun outside and shut the door.  

Russia reached past America and adjusted the radio’s volume before leaning back with a relieved sigh.  “That’s better,” he said, nodding. “No gun, no noise. Nice and cozy for our little chat.” 

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” America asked.  “Couldn’t tell. Felt more like a carjacking. Must be a cultural difference.”

None too amused, China rolled his eyes.  “We were hoping you could tell us a little about this,” he said, drawing the quarter from his pocket.  He waved it in front of America’s face. “Does this look familiar?” 

“Uh, yeah,” said America, unimpressed.  “It’s a quarter. You know, money?” he prompted, raising his eyebrows at a scowling China.  “You guys have money, don’t you?”

“Not lately,” Russia cheerfully informed him.  “Friend America, I think you misunderstand. We were hoping you could give us a little more information about this particular coin.” 

“Twenty-five cents,” America jawed.  “You know, quarter of a dollar. Buys you a gallon of gas, or a pack of cigs and a piece of candy.  What, you looking to invest?” 

“No,” China huffed.  “We--”

“Well great,” America laughed.  “Now I don’t have to try and explain piggy banks to you.” 

Russia loomed over America, seeming to take up half the space in the car.  “Friend America,” he reiterated, smiling patiently. “We found this coin on poor Japan’s floor, and we want to see if you can explain how it got there.” 

America shook his head, his mouth pressed into a transparently artificial line of thoughtfulness.  “Golly, I just don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it fell outta somebody’s pocket, got eaten by a particularly stupid migratory bird--”

“You are insufferable,” China hissed.  

“I don’t know what you want from me!” America shot back, finally betraying his irritation.  “You think I keep track of every coin that rolls off the mint? Is that something either of you have time to do?  Didn’t think so! I don’t know how that coin ended up at Japan’s place, and before you ask, no, I don’t know where he is, either!  Now get off my case and get out of my--” Very suddenly, his face went slack. “Wait a minute,” he muttered. “Wait a minute, show me that coin again?” 

Summoning the very last crumb of his patience, China held the quarter up once more for America to inspect.  

“Let’s see, lemme just-- hah!  Yep,” America chuckled, plucking the coin from China’s fingers and placing it in his palm.  “Look here,” he said, gesturing for Russia and China to look closer. “Look, right there. They messed up Uncle Georgie’s face,” he said, jabbing at the coin with his pointer finger.  “Hilarious, right?” 

“A misprint,” China murmured, frowning deeply.  “So you do recognize it.”

“I do,” America agreed.  “I gave it to Japan a few years ago to help him with his coin collection.”

“That could explain what it was doing in his house,” China reluctantly sighed.

“Wait just a moment,” said Russia, looking very much perturbed.  “Are we to believe that you gave Japan this deformed coin as a gift?”

“It’s not ‘deformed’,” America told him.  “It’s collectible. People go nuts over stuff like this.” 

“That you even recognize it only further ties Japan’s disappearance to you,” said Russia.  “China,” he added. “It still doesn’t explain why we found it in the hall, rather than with the rest of Japan’s coins.  Besides, he could be making this up. We have nothing to go by except his word and the observations of our own eyes.”

“Oh, wow,” said America, shaking his head in disbelief.  “I’m really impressed at how badly you wanna pin this on me.  Real impressed. You wanna say that I’m keeping Japan in my attic like some kind of weirdo, don’t you?  Wow,” America scoffed.

“Well then you won’t have a problem letting us check your attic,” said Russia.  “Just in case we’re right about you.” 

“I do mind,” America gritted out between clenched teeth.  “Because I got nothing to do with this!”

“That is yet to be seen,” said China, snatching the coin back from America.

“Hey!” America protested.  “That’s not yours!”

China’s expression soured even further.  “No,” he cooly replied. “It’s Japan’s, and I’ll return it to him when I find him.  And I will find him.” His discerning eyes searched America’s face for a long moment before he added, “This evidence doesn’t condemn you, America, but it doesn’t prove your innocence, either.  If you have anything to do with Japan’s disappearance,” China whispered, “anything at all, I’ll find out, and you’ll pay.”

The air had grown incredibly thin.  Russia was a mountain at America’s side, cold, unmoving, silent. “I’m sure you will,” America slowly replied, matching both China’s glare and his tone with equal steel.  After an eternity, China and Russia retreated. America didn’t have to watch them vanish to know they were gone. 

A cool breeze trailed through the car through the doors left open, sweeping over white leather just as America had done before.  It swept over America, too. He laid his head back, let out a breath, and closed his eyes to a world he didn’t care to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you were curious as to what was going on with America, so maybe this clears things up just a hair. As always, let us know if you have any questions, and thank you all for your wonderful feedback!  
> P.S. It's a two-for-one special today, since both chapters 8 and 9 are short and have very little to do with each other. Enjoy!


	9. Scheming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got published at the same time as chapter 8, so make sure you didn't skip that chapter! Unless you really don't want to read it, for whatever reason. That's your call. Godspeed.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with this camera.  There were no improvements he could possibly make without recommending the usage of different materials, or perhaps a slightly different lens.  He had already noted that in the margins of the blueprint, of course, but it was the writing at the top of the paper that bothered him.

They wanted Germany to find a way to make an already miniscule camera even smaller, and quite frankly, he wasn’t sure it could be done.  Why anyone would want such a device was beyond him. The one sketched out in front of him was the perfect size to be carried in a purse or coat pocket.  He was being asked to shrink it beyond practicality.

It didn’t make sense.

Germany sighed and shoved the blueprint away from him, slumping back in his chair.  For the third time that day, he opened his desk drawer, reached all the way to the back, and felt around until he found the shotgun shell he had hidden there.  He retrieved it, pulled out the note, and unfolded it as flatly as the creases would allow so that he could read it over for the umpteenth time. 

When he finished it, he laughed at himself for choosing one senseless sheet of paper over another.

The beginning of the note was so like Feliciano, he thought: rambling, worried, somewhat incoherent.  Germany could scarcely imagine how he had fooled France into being his messenger, but somehow, it had worked.  It would have been tricky-- unless France was in on it, too. Germany had no reason to believe what Italy had told him, not after all the lies he had fed him before. 

Assuming he wasn’t lying, Japan was in a great deal of danger, and America seemed to be the likely culprit.  He was certainly acting suspiciously. That phrase Italy had used--all the blood--it didn’t sit well with Germany.  Neither did the idea that his captors were deliberately keeping him in the dark. If America was to blame, and if England was cooperating with him, it made Germany even less inclined to work for either of them.  On the other hand, Italy and France could by lying to him, for whatever purpose. Perhaps they wanted him to believe they were on his side, or that his captors weren’t to be trusted. 

The only thing of which Germany was sure was that he was being manipulated.  By whom, or to what end, he had no idea.

There was at least one shred of truth in the note.  Italy hadn’t poisoned the bread. Nor had he slacked on the flavor.  It was just as delicious as Germany had hoped, and he had finished it in just two days.  Normally he would have tried to make it last, but lately, he had been hungrier than usual.  No matter how much he ate, he was still losing weight. Every day, his muscles grew less defined.  He tried to exercise as much as his circumstances allowed. There wasn’t much else to do besides that, looking over blueprints, and rereading Italy’s note.

Germany had absorbed about as much fact as he could from the note.  He wasn’t even sure if the entire note could be believed. Nevertheless, he was still sitting there at his desk, digging between the lines for something more than what Italy had scratched across the paper.

He had almost called him Ludwig, but then he’d changed his mind, and he’d called him Germany instead.  Just like he had asked. Why did the fact bother him now? Why did it upset him that Italy had signed off “Feli”, as if they could ever go back to the way things had been before?  It didn’t make sense. Italy thought he hated him, now.

That wasn’t true.  It never had been. Germany had wanted to hate him.  He had wanted to blame him for everything that had happened, but there was no point.  Prussia was gone. The war was over. Blaming Italy would give him nothing except more sleepless nights.  Even worse, it would give him more guilt than he already felt over ignoring his brother’s final wish.

But perhaps it wasn’t too late to do something about that.  Pursuing Italy could be useful to him in more ways than one.  If Italy was telling the truth, he could prove to be helpful in getting Germany out of his current situation.  If he was lying, Germany had no qualms with playing along for as long as the benefits suited him. He had no intention of trusting Italy right away, after all.  Finally, it would ease his mind to know that he had done right by his brother. 

Germany knew what he needed to do, but contacting Italy wouldn’t be a simple matter.  Italy had said it himself, although he seemed to think that Germany had the luxury of telephone access.  He would be tempted to call in spite of Italy’s instructions. Surely he could come up with a valid excuse to call Italy.  Then he could attempt to deliver a coded message.

Or something.

Germany didn’t have a clue how else he could communicate with Italy, unless he managed to convince somebody to deliver a loaf of bread, just like Italy had done.  That really had been a clever plan.

Italy had always been clever, Germany thought to himself.  He rolled the shotgun shell across his desk from one hand to the other.  Italy had been clever enough to fool him. Japan, too. That had been no small feat.  Whatever Italy was up to, Germany was certain that he had some scheme, plan, or plot in mind, just as he had when he had betrayed them.

Germany let the shotgun shell roll to a stop between his hands as he wondered what exactly Italy’s plan had been all along.  Germany hadn’t forgotten those words Italy had said. He had never been his ally. He had never been his ally, but he had always been his friend.  Then, Germany had been in far too much pain to believe the last part of what Italy had said, but now-- now that he had had time to consider his brother’s words, and to see just how friendless he had become-- he was starting to see things a little differently.

He couldn’t trust Italy, but Italy wasn’t cruel.  He hadn’t meant to hurt him. Germany knew that. Somehow, that only made it more painful that everything had turned out this way.  It was painful for all of them, but then, they were all familiar with pain. Italy especially. He had lost so much to war. He had lost his grandfather.  He had lost his first love.

Germany hadn’t understood, before, how it felt to lose the things that meant the most.  He thought he did, now. 

He stood from his desk and began to pace back and forth around his office.  Supposing Italy was telling the truth, and supposing Japan was actually missing, Germany needed a plan.  Working for England and America was doing nothing except gaining their trust, and that was a slow task indeed.  No, he didn’t have a plan, but he did have objectives. Objectives were nearly as good as plans. He needed to wheedle more information out of America and England and whoever else visited him without arousing their suspicions.  Direct confrontation likely wouldn’t be the most efficient approach. Besides that, he needed to find a way to let Italy know that he had gotten his message. 

Figuring out what else he should tell him, however, would be nearly as impossible a task.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I had shown this chapter to Kai, she had had a lot of problems with the amount of times I had used "had had". This chapter would have had more "had had" had Kai not mentioned all the "had had"s I had had. Now there's half the "had"s and "had had"s that we could have had you read.  
> It had been a tense conversation.  
> -Jay
> 
> I’ve HAD it with you and your puns, Jay. Also, I titled this chapter Had Had first before it got its proper title.  
> ~Kai


	10. Small Steps

“So, you two have been under house arrest for a little over three months now--”

“It’s been four months,” Romano interrupted England, just barely restraining an insult.  “Just so you know. You’ve been treating us like criminals for four months now, not even counting all that time before the war ended, if that even makes a difference to you.”

“Hold on, Roma,” Italy gingerly cut in.  “It’s actually only been eleven weeks, but you’re kind of right.  It has been pretty close to four months.”

“England wasn’t technically wrong, though,” France helpfully added.

“Are you all done?” England drawled, cutting his eyes between the three of them from where he was perched on the arm of Italy’s couch.

“Oh, sure,” said Romano with a lazy wave of his hand.  “Please, keep going.”

A grunt sounded off deep inside England’s throat.  “As I was saying,” he huffed. “It’s been a while now, and we’ve agreed that it’s time to loosen your reins, so to speak.”

Italy’s face ignited like a firecracker.  “Does that mean we don’t have to have soldiers watching us all the time?  I mean, I’ll kind of miss Thomas--he always tells me about his wife and kids and his little nieces and nephews, you know?--but Henry is a real jerk, and I want him out of my front garden before he figures out I speak English.”

“I know what you mean,” France sighed as he sunk dramatically further into one of Italy’s armchairs.  He threw England a slanted grin and added, “Once those Brits figure out you can actually understand them, it’s nearly impossible to get them to stop pestering you.”

England’s lips twitched upwards as he replied, “You’ve got it backwards.  The idea is to keep pestering them _ until  _ you figure them out.”

“Oh, so I’m still an enigma, am I?” France chuckled.  “I was beginning to worry I’d lost my mystique.”

“Who made this about you?” asked England, a spark in his eyes.

“Don’t you know, my old friend?  It’s always about--”

“Hey!” Romano barked.  “Cut that shit out before I break out in hives.”  

All at once, England and France seemed to remember that there were others in the room.  “Erm, yes,” England coughed. “Right. Dear me, what were we talking about?”

“I think you were just saying how you’re going to tell those soldiers to get out of here and let us go shopping in peace for once,” Italy prompted him.  “At least, I, um--I hope you were going to say that,” he haltingly added. “You were going to say that, right?”

France straightened up in his seat.  “We’ve agreed to disperse the soldiers--”

“Sweet mother Mary, finally,” Romano sighed.

“--but you’ll have a curfew,” France finished.

“Curfew?” Italy pouted as his brother listed several creative adjectives describing exactly how he felt about this policy.

“That’s right,” said England.  “Curfew will be from eight at night until six in the morning.  If you want to be out later than that, you’ll need an escort. Finally,” he went on, “you are still prohibited from reaching out to Germany or-- well, just Germany, I suppose,” he sheepishly went on.  “I mean, if you could talk to Japan, we still wouldn’t let you-- no talking to Germany or Japan, but especially Germany,” he finished with a nod. “Since he’s the only one around.”

Romano let out a horribly empty laugh.  “Great,” he said. “Like we would want to talk to that sorry bastard anyhow.”

“Not even a phone call?” Italy cautiously mumbled.

“No,” came the immediate response from everyone in his sitting room.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” said France.  Italy opened his mouth to protest, but France hushed him, saying, “He doesn’t have a phone anymore.  Now, we might consider a letter, but we’ll have to review it first--”

“I want to see him,” Italy firmly insisted.

There was a beat of silent, shocked staring before Romano cut in with, “Just a fucking minute--”

“I want to see that you two are holding up your end of the bargain!”  Fierce determination nearly hid the trepidation in Italy’s eyes. “When we agreed to join your side, you promised me you would treat them fairly, Japan and Germany both.  Do you remember that?” he demanded, catching France and England’s uncomfortable glances at each other. “You never said you were going to restrict his communication, but you’ve gone and taken away his phone, and you’re censoring his mail, too, aren’t you?  So I want to see for myself that you’re not doing horrible things to him behind my back. I think it’s only fair,” Italy continued. “Just one visit. Supervised. That’s all I’m asking, here.” When neither France nor England replied right away, he quickly added, “If you don’t want to go with me, I’m going to find a way to go see for myself, and then you won’t be able to control what I say, will you?”

“Oh, so you think you can get away with that without getting caught?” England shot back.  “That would be quite impressive, considering Germany’s house is crawling with soldiers at all times.  You’ll never get so much as a smoke signal to him, we’ve made sure of that.”

There was a beat of silence while France cleared his throat.  “I do believe you’re proving his point,” he mumbled. 

A pained groan escaped from between England’s clenched teeth.  “Fine!” he ground out. “Fine. Just one visit, but that’s it!”

“No!” Romano cut in, much to the surprise of England and France.  “Veneziano, you’re not going anywhere near him! I don’t care what these two say!  He’s dangerous. You said it yourself, he can’t change, so you need to keep the hell away from him.”

“It’s been over a year, Roma!” Italy shot back.  

“Yeah, and that’s not long enough!”

“I think I can decide that for myself,” Italy bit back.  “And what’s he gonna do to me if I have France or England hanging over me?  What, you think he’s going to attack me with all those soldiers right outside his house?”

“I’m not worried about him attacking you,” Romano ground out.  “I’m worried about him breaking your—“

“Enough of this!”  England silenced them both with a curt wave of his hand.  Neither brother broke eye contact. “Italy. If you’re going through with this, meet me at Germany’s house on Wednesday at eleven.  If you show up another time, I will hear about it, and there will be consequences,” he warned him.

“I’ll be there,” Italy tartly replied, still glaring at his brother.

In a huff, Romano simply stood and walked out the door, refusing to look at anyone at all.  The door slammed with a shudder.

“Well, then,” said France after a heavy pause.  “I think it’s time we get going.”

“Quite,” said England, puffing out his cheeks.  “Well, Italy, enjoy your new freedom. Don’t forget your curfew.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Italy sighed, propping up his chin on his fist.  “Bye.”

France made his way to the door, but before he left, he looked to Italy with a piteous frown and told him, “You should go out somewhere peaceful.  That might cheer you up.” He waited for Italy’s response, but all he received was a disinterested hum.

Tutting softly to himself, England followed France out the door and wondered if he hadn’t bent too easily to Italy’s demands.

***

A strange wave of nostalgia rolled over Italy as he traversed the hilly path between his land and Germany’s for the first time since the end of the war.  The last flowers of fall gathered in silent crowds beneath the shivering trees. Italy let the feeling settle inside of him next to the precious solitude with nature that he had missed for so long now.

Yes, strange, he thought.  How strange it was to be journeying again to the home of someone he had once called his dearest friend, but who was now all but a stranger.  Stranger still, Italy considered, that his heart had never left that place or the person he had left there. 

Germany’s home was a trampled specter of its former self.  The gardens had grown untamed and brittle, the grass trampled by the feet of apathetic soldiers roaming the grounds, the paint on the house chipped and faded.  It was a husk. Italy found himself wondering if Germany was the same way.

England was already there, chatting with a few men standing guard at the front door, fiddling with the straps of his suspenders as he conversed.  As soon as England saw Italy approach, however, he waved the men off to a more private distance and beckoned Italy closer.

“I was wondering if you’d actually come,” he said. 

“I was wondering if you’d actually be here,” Italy told him.

England snickered and shook his head.  “I’m a man of my word, but you might not know about—“ He paused, then, and thought better of completing his sentence.  “In any case, let’s set up some ground rules, shall we? Any mention of Japan is off limits.”

“Why?” Italy interrupted him.

“Because I said so,” said England.  “If you tell him anything he’s not supposed to know, it’s right back to house arrest for you.” 

Feeling very bold, Italy informed him, “That doesn’t scare me.”

“Fine, then,” said England.  “Maybe this might. If you’re caught stepping out of line, your brother will take the consequences.”

“You know what?” Italy huffed.  “I’m really starting to think you’re just doing this because you like the power trip.”

“Do you want this visit or not?”

Italy pressed his lips together in a firm line.  “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“You get half an hour, then,” England told him, and without a moment’s hesitation, he let himself in.  “Germany,” he called, hanging on the doorknob. “You have a visitor. May we step inside?”

From Germany’s front stoop, Italy could hear the bustle of dogs, and then footsteps, and finally, “Come in.”

England waved Italy inside, but for the briefest moment, he was stuck to the spot, stuck to the fear of what or who he would see inside.  His feet made the decision for him, propelling him onwards without his consent until he was submerged in the familiar breath of Germany’s home.  The warmth, the scent— the memory of it all instantly returned life to his stalled heart.

For the first time in months, there he was.  Beneath the untucked shirt and the scruff on his jaw and the darkness seeping under his eyes, Germany was there in front of him, and while Italy had never seen him look quite so broken, he had never seen him quite so human, either.

“It’s you,” Germany stated after a long while of staring and silence went unbroken between them.  He was entirely blank.

Every word of every sentence Italy had prepared had evaporated the moment he set foot inside.  “Hi,” he stammered. “Um,” he said. Aster pawing at his knees wrested his attention downwards, where Germany’s three dogs were excitedly sniffing at him, and a tiny yellow bird fluttered from bouncing head to bouncing head.  “You guys still remember me, I see,” he said through a breathy laugh, bending at his waist to pat the dogs.

Germany laughed then, too, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  “I don’t see how they could forget,” he said. “You spoiled them rotten.”  A wary smile dared to form on his face, ready to hide itself at the first sign of its unwelcome.  He met Italy’s eyes and saw that they reflected a smile just as timid.

England cleared his throat and said, “Germany, you’re done with the blueprints America gave you last week, aren’t you?”

“Er, yes,” said Germany, blinking over at him.  “Yes,” he repeated. “Sorry,” he added without really knowing why.

“Right then,” said England, a peculiar grimace on his face.  “I’ll be here for half an hour to— to chaperone, if you will,” he explained.  “When the time’s up, I’m taking the blueprints and leaving, and Italy’s coming with me.  Isn’t that right, Italy?”

“Um, right,” Italy replied, smiling apologetically at Germany.  Something clenched in his chest when Germany nodded his understanding back.

England sighed, fell into a nearby chair, and checked his pocket watch before picking up a book.  Then he sighed again.

“Please, er— have a seat,” Germany brightly suggested, directing Italy to the couch that Italy had so many times commandeered for himself, for an afternoon nap or an evening lounge, without even thinking about it.  

“Thanks,” said Italy, laughing another breathy laugh.  There was nothing funny, he thought to himself. This stiffness, the formality, the shock and the not knowing at all what to say—it wasn’t funny.  It was awkward. It was awkward and tragic and it made him nervous, and Italy always laughed when he was nervous.

Germany knew this.  He didn’t laugh.

“So they have you working on blueprints, now, huh?” Italy began once Germany had taken a rigid seat on the far end of the couch.

“That’s about all I’m allowed to do,” said Germany, twelve different sentiments all fighting to be expressed at once.  “I don’t suppose they have you working, though.”

“No,” Italy admitted.  “Just the usual nation business.  We, um— me and Romano— we just got let off house arrest a few days ago, actually.”

“Congratulations,” Germany told him.  He glanced fleetingly at England before adding, “How does freedom taste?”

“It tastes like I still have a curfew,” Italy laughed, the action still mostly borne of nerves.  “You—You were right, you know. They never did treat us like equals.”

England glanced up just long enough to catch Germany’s eyebrows shoot up and muttered, “I’m still in the room, you know.”  Neither cared to hear him.

“That might be the only thing I was right about,” Germany breathed.

It was Italy’s turn to be shocked.  “What do you mean?” he hesitantly prompted him, unwilling to believe that Germany meant what he hoped he did.  

“I mean that—that you had a point, back when you were trying to get me to— I didn’t always—“ Germany kept glancing back and forth between England’s feet and the floor, anywhere but at Italy.  “My brother talked to me before he… before he left, and said some things that I’ve thought about, and that have made me think about all the things you said before—I’ve had a lot of time for thinking, these days.  It’s just me here, and the dogs, and the bird, but that’s not what I was, erm…” He trailed off, then, and began chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Italy nodded, anyway.  “I, um,” he stammered. “I’m really—“ he paused in his uncertainty before finally managing, “I’m really sorry.”  He took a shuddery breath. “I’m just… sorry.”

Germany didn’t need to ask for what.  “You should be,” some cold, bitter part of him thought about saying—but those words were ones that built not bridges, but walls, and the last thing Prussia had ever wanted for his little brother was a wall to be built between him and the people who held him dearest.  So, instead, Germany nodded and sighed, “Me too.” Italy’s lip began to tremble, so Germany very quickly cleared his throat and asked, “How’s—How’s Japan?”

“Uh,” Italy breathed.  England peered at him over the edge of his book.  “I haven’t seen him in a while—“ England’s eyes narrowed— “because I’ve been in my house all this time,” Italy hurriedly continued, causing England’s stern gaze to soften somewhat.  “So I don’t— I don’t really know.”

Very slowly, Germany slid his eyes from England to Italy and said, “I see.”

Several seconds passed during which the only sound was of the dogs pacing in antsy circles.

”Hey,” Italy abruptly stated.  “I was just thinking—you haven’t seen my cat outside your house lately, have you?”

Germany blinked at him, his brows furrowed.  “Your cat?” he repeated.

”Yeah,” Italy answered, glancing hurriedly at England.  “My cat. Kiku.”

Germany’s eyes widened nearly imperceptibly.  “Ah,” he said, maintaining his composure. “The small one, right?”

Italy had to force the relief out of his voice when he said, “Yeah, he ran away from home, recently.”  England absently turned the page of his book. “I think maybe all the soldiers spooked him.”

“I’m… very sorry to hear that,” Germany slowly answered him, his heart thumping harder in his chest.  “However, I don’t think he would have gone far from home, so maybe you should start the search near there.”

“Yeah,” said Italy, thanking the stars that he and Germany had discussed coded speech a time or two during training.  “That’s great advice, but I already looked around the house, and he wasn’t there.”

“Then check the neighbor’s houses,” Germany carefully advised him.

“You could also try planting catnip,” said England, scratching his nose.  “Just a suggestion,” he said when Italy and Germany only stared at him. “Sorry.  Carry on.”

“Catnip isn’t a terrible idea, I suppose,” said Germany a few beats too late.

Italy huffed a laugh and said, “Tuna might work better for Kiku.”

“Finicky,” England muttered.

“He can be kind of finicky,” Italy agreed.  “But I’m a little worried that it won’t matter what kind of treats I put out, because what if someone took him, and he can’t come back on his own?”

Germany chewed on his lip as he considered this.  “Cats tend to wander sometimes, but I do understand your concern,” he said, passing Italy a knowing look.  “If you’re really worried that someone might have grabbed him, you have to ask yourself who would have done it, why they would have done it, and how they got away with it.”

“But what if I can think of a lot of different people?” Italy asked, fidgeting in his distress.

“Then you start looking closer,” said Germany.  “Remember, Kiku has claws, and he knows how to use them, so if anyone did make the mistake of dragging him away, they’re bound to get scratched sooner or later.”

Italy gave him a hurried nod and said, “You know, you’re right.  I didn’t think about it like that before.”

“Kiku is small, but he can defend himself,” said Germany.  He sent one final glance towards England before he added, “He probably just wandered off, though.  After all, he’s only a cat.”

“Right,” said Italy, flashing a smile.

“Could be off tomcatting,” England absently suggested.  “You could check in with Greece. He’s got a million cats, hasn’t he?  He could probably tell you if your cat’s off sleeping around somewhere.”

Italy had to stifle a laugh and instead replied, “Yeah, I’ll have to ask him about that.”

“Whatever the case,” said Germany, rolling his eyes,  “I really hope you find Kiku, even if we didn’t always get along.”

Disbelief contorted Italy’s face.  “Really?” he asked. “I kind of thought he liked you more than me.”

“He’s hissed at me a time or two,” Germany admitted.  “I might have deserved it, though.”

“Oh, right,” said Italy, growing somber.  “I’m sure you guys can work it out once I find him, though.”

In one fluid motion, England snapped his book shut and stood.  “I think that’s about time, gentlemen. Germany, the blueprints?”

“They’re in my office,” he said, all at once as tired as he had looked standing in the doorway.  “Should I go grab them for you?”

England considered this for a moment before he said, “No, I’ll do it.  Say your goodbyes, and then we’ll be off.” With that, he strode off to Germany’s office, leaving the two of them, for the briefest of moments, alone.

“Feli,” Germany murmured, wishing for all the world he didn’t have to rush the words he was saying.  “Thank you for the bread,” he said. Then, nearly whispering, he added, “I don’t hate you.”

Italy laughed, then, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t because he was nervous.  “Germany—“

“Ludwig,” Germany quietly insisted.

Italy smiled all the brighter.  “Lud,” he started again. “You need to clean your couch.”

Germany barely had time to register just how perplexed he was by the time England returned with a bundle of blueprints under his arm.  “Alright, Germany, you know the drill,” he said, sweeping past him to the door. “I’ll see you in a week or so.”

“Er, right—“

“Bye Germany!” Italy cheerfully told him, giving each dog a final pat.  “It was nice catching up with you! Have fun cleaning!” Without so much as another hint, Italy and England slid out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the authors learn that when you put your characters in a tough situation, you have to get them out somehow. So, by all means, give us your theories! I swear, some of you are psychic anyway. All of you are wonderful. Go listen to a sappy love song.  
> -Jay
> 
> I'm very busy, but I want you to know that I still read and cherish all of your comments, even if I don't reply.  
> -Kai


	11. Pride

The lock clicked.  Japan stared, his heart pounding as the old doorknob spun in its socket, every sound a thunderbolt in the silence.  The door creaked open, and a white shadow slipped inside.

“Ah,” Russia whispered.  “You’re finally awake. How do you feel?”

Japan’s gut had wrapped itself in a knot.  He wanted to sit up, but he wanted very much less to let Russia see him weak.  “Where am I?” he croaked, damning the strain in his voice.

“Goodness, you’re hoarse,” Russia tutted, pushing the door nearly shut behind himself.  “Why don’t you have some water?”

“I’m not thirsty.”

Russia’s smile faded as imperceptibly as the light at dusk.  “Friend Japan,” he sighed. “If you are not honest with me, how can I help you?  We must trust each other if this is going to work.”

“Tell me where I am,” Japan rasped, refusing to wince at the pain each syllable produced.

“Tell me why you do not drink,” Russia answered him.

Japan remained pridefully silent.

“I see,” said Russia, his smile returning.  “It is too painful for you to speak and say that you can’t even sit up,” he said, stepping to the bedside.  “Let alone drink. You shouldn’t worry, though, Japan. I am here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” said Japan as he vainly attempted to shove himself away from Russia.

“I’m afraid you do,” Russia kindly replied.  “Now, if you’ll just let me--”

“Don’t touch me!”

Reluctantly, Russia withdrew.  Then, he retrieved the wooden chair from the wall, and, under Japan’s watchful glare, he dragged it to rest by Japan’s side.  He settled himself in the dusty seat with a weary exhale. “There,” he said. “Now we may clear up some misconceptions that you appear to have.”

Japan clenched his jaw as Russia took a swig from his flask before continuing.

“You may not remember much of the past few weeks,” said Russia, returning the flask to his pocket.  “That is to be expected, after your horrible ordeal. I found you in terrible pain after America so cruelly bombed you--”

“A bomb did this to me?” Japan whispered, his stoic facade momentarily shattered in his shock.

“America did this to you,” said Russia, eyes full of sympathy.  “I found you before he did, and then I took you here, back to my house, where you would be safe from him while the others dealt with his brutality.”  Russia grimaced at the floor and added, “I thought that you might be more grateful after I saved you, but it seems that all you have for me is hostility.  That’s alright, though.” He smiled sadly up at Japan, whose stomach was still churning. “It is only natural to lash out when we are in pain.” 

It took Japan no small amount of effort to push the words, “Thank you for your help, Mr. Russia,” out between his teeth, but the effect was instantaneous.

“Oh!” Russia gasped, delighted.  “You’re very welcome, Japan! I knew you would come around once I told you what happened.”  Russia fidgeted in his glee a while before gesturing to the glass of water. “Would you like…?”

Japan forced himself to nod.  He would need his strength, no matter how he loathed that he had to get it from Russia.  Ginger hands sent contempt trickling down his back, and when Russia brought the glass to his lips, his own shaky grasp sent water trickling down his chin.  He wiped it away when he was finished, dutifully refusing to meet Russia’s gaze as he helped him lower himself back down onto the dusty pillow. 

“And now your medicine,” Russia murmured, pouring some of the syrupy liquid from Japan’s bedside table into a spoon.

“What is it?” Japan hoarsely whispered, eyeing the substance through narrowed eyes.  

“An old herbal remedy,” Russia told him, bringing the spoon to the corner of Japan’s lips.  “It will help.”

Japan opened his mouth to protest, but a cascade of acrid tar knocked his words back down his throat.  He coughed harshly, but the medicine had passed through him before he could even be revolted by the taste.  The medicine was bitter-- not in the way that tea was bitter, or in the way an unripened apple was bitter, but bitter like spite and derision and lies.  

“It is an acquired taste,” Russia admitted as he recorked the bottle.

“And a taste I do not wish to acquire,” Japan quipped.  “My body will heal itself, as it always has. I have no need for your remedies.”

Russia stared at him, not quite frowning, but certainly not pleased.  “In that case,” he said, “I will find a way to mask the taste, but you simply must take your medicine.”

“I don’t have to do anything you say,” Japan replied.  “And I don’t have to stay here.”

“Unfortunately, you do,” Russia sighed.  “Your house--it’s a terrible shame, but your house was lost to the bombing.”

Although Japan wore a mask of scorn, his head was swimming from the shock.  “Then I will sleep in the dirt there,” he replied in a coarse whisper. “You cannot keep me.”

“I will be keeping you,” said Russia.  “Not because you have nowhere else to go, and not even because my friends have decided that you will serve out the penalty of your warmongering here,” he added with a piteous shake of his head.  “You will be staying here because you are obviously very ill, and I am not so cruel as to send someone who cannot even sit up into a snowstorm to travel to a home that no longer exists.”

“My people are my home,” said Japan, though the words taxed him greatly.

Russia let out a slow breath.  “I have always admired that about you, Japan.  You would do anything for your people. Anything, it seems,” he added, getting to his feet, “except rest.”

Japan closed his eyes against another wave of ache welling up from his core--and it was merely a moment, he was sure, that he kept his eyes shut--but when he cracked them open again, he found himself alone.  

***

Prussia darted down the hall on muted feet and flung himself into an empty parlor while he waited for Russia to pass.  Japan was awake, and soon, Russia would be gone. As badly as he had wanted to hear Japan’s voice again, however, the results of his eavesdropping had proven themselves to be far from reassuring.  Japan sounded almost as sandpapery as Prussia had in the last days of his life, and whatever medicine Russia had forced down his throat didn’t seem to be helping. No, Prussia planned on thoroughly investigating that, along with the fact that all Russia’s words all smelled like deceit.  Before he could go running into Japan’s room, however, he had to wait for Russia to--

“Hello there, East Germany.” 

Prussia jolted and hesitantly peeled himself from his hiding place.  Russia watched him expectantly from the doorway. “Oh,” said Prussia, shoving his tone into a more casual form than his insides had taken.  “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy indeed,” said Russia, grinning.  “I hope you are not lost again.”

“Nope,” said Prussia, throwing his hands behind his head.  “Just taking a break from dusting every book in your library.  You have quite a collection, you know. Ever thought about selling some?”  Russia smiled blankly at him. “...Anyway, I just thought I’d hang out up here for awhile,” Prussia yawned.  “Change of scenery. You know how it is.”

“Oh, certainly,” Russia agreed.  “I do know how it is. Tell me, East Germany: how would you like a more permanent change of scenery?”

Prussia let his hands drop, then, and answered, “Depends on what you mean.”

“Come with me,” said Russia, gesturing pleasantly for Prussia to follow.  “I will show you.”

With his chances at meeting with Japan just about entirely shattered as things stood, Prussia followed without complaint.  Russia led him through a maze of vaguely-familiar halls and chambers and up two winding flights of stairs before he spoke again.

“You have done a wonderful job with the cleaning,” said Russia.  “However, I think your talents will be best put to use in other areas, if you understand.  People say that you have quite a knack for engineering,” he went on. “Is that true?”

“Yeah,” said Prussia, frowning slightly.  “I’m great at it.”

“I had hoped you would say that,” Russia cheerily replied, hurrying along.  “Now, one more question. Have you met my--”

“I thought I heard your voice!”  A woman peered out from an open door before bounding down the hall to embrace her brother.

“Hello, Ukraine,” said Russia, patting his sister on the back until she pulled away.  “I’ve brought you an assistant.”

“I see that!” Ukraine replied, shaking Prussia’s hand with two of her own.  “It’s good to see that you’re feeling better, Prussia--sorry, you’re East Germany now, aren’t you?  I should get used to calling you--”

“Just ‘Prussia’ is fine,” Prussia blandly interrupted her.     

“Oh, well then, just Prussia it is!” Ukraine laughed.  

“I knew you two would get along,” Russia beamed, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “You will be collaborating with my sister on various projects-- ah, she can explain,” he said.  “But this will be your new job.”

Prussia raised his eyebrows at him.  “Really?” he asked. “Well, I guess it beats cleaning.”

“This will be your new office,” Russia continued, gesturing to the room from which Ukraine had emerged a moment prior.  “Do take care to remember where it is. You’ll be spending quite a lot of time here,” he advised Prussia. Then, he turned to his sister.  “I need to go take care of some unfinished business, so you may need to show our new friend back to his quarters when you’re finished here.  He still seems to be getting lost, unfortunately. Will that be alright?”

Ukraine waved him away.  “I’ll take care of things here.  Go,” she said. “I know how busy you are.  Besides, I want to pick Prussia’s brain for a while,” she added, giving Prussia a nudge and a wink.  “I hear he’s just as talented as his brother.”

“Where do you think he learned what he knows?” Prussia replied, grinning more warmly than he’d intended.  

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” said Russia, leaving them with a nod and a turn of his coat.

“Let’s get started, then!” Ukraine declared as she took Prussia by the arm and escorted him to his office.  “You’ll be working here,” she said, showcasing dusty bookshelves and a broad desk with one wave of her arm. A wide window let in dirty light from the empty, desolate sky outside.  “Nice, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen worse,” Prussia conceded, frowning into a basket of rusty measuring devices that sat on the corner of the desk.  “What exactly will I be doing here?”

“Ah, that’s the fun part,” Ukraine told him.  Releasing his arm, she ventured across the room and swiped a bundle of blueprints from a high shelf.  She let these fall unceremoniously from her arms onto the desk where they sent up a thin mist of dust.  “You,” she said, smiling up at Prussia, “get to help me revise these.”

Prussia picked up a scroll and unfurled it so that it caught the light from the window.  Plans for what appeared to be some sort of ignition mechanism were scrawled out in tidy lines across the paper.  “Revise them how?” he asked, squinting at a cluster of precise measurements.

Ukraine sat herself on the corner of the desk with a hopeless little laugh.  “They’re mostly fine,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “It’s not bad work.  Solid engineering, truth be told. The real problem is the money.” 

Prussia laughed, then, too.  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, tossing the blueprint he had picked up back to the desk, where it coiled in on itself.  “So, you want me to see if I can figure out how to make this stuff cheaper without breaking it.”

“That’s the idea,” Ukraine agreed.  “There will be a few exceptions, though.  Some big-ticket items-- with those, you’ll get to focus on making improvements.  Really though, just assume you’re working on cost-effectiveness unless there’s a note somewhere telling you otherwise.”  She scooted off the desk and went to nudge a tall basket with her foot. “When you’re done looking over a blueprint, it goes in here.  New work will get put on the shelves, understand?”

Prussia nodded and let out a weary breath.  “I don’t suppose I’ll be getting paid for this job, either.”

Ukraine smiled kindly at him and shook her head.  “You’ll have to work that out with Russia, I’m afraid.  But,” she cheerily added, “you’ll definitely get the satisfaction of a job well-done!”

“Sounds about right,” Prussia muttered, falling into his new desk chair with a thump.  “Any other perks I should know about?”

“Absolutely none whatsoever,” Ukraine replied with a smile.  “Are you ready to follow me back to your room, now?”

“I was just getting comfortable,” said Prussia through a dry laugh.  He stood once more, taking one last look around his new office. His days of cleaning certainly weren’t over.  “Yeah,” he sighed. “I guess so.”

“It’s not a bad job,” Ukraine assured him as they re-entered the hallway.  “I’m fairly new at it, myself, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. It’s fun,” she said with a shrug.  “A new puzzle every day. I thought desk work would drive me crazy, but when your Boss tells you to do something, you do it.”

“I know what you mean,” Prussia murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets.  He followed Ukraine down one flight of stairs before he dared ask, “You know Japan is here, right?”

A shadow fell across her face, but her smile remained.  In that moment, Prussia saw the family resemblance. “I don’t know anything about that,” she told him.  “It’s best if you don’t, either. Now, are you remembering the way we’ve come?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.  “It’s important that you know your way around.”

In spite of his mood, Prussia did as he was instructed and put a little extra effort into remembering the path between his room and his office, although when Ukraine finally bid him a cordial farewell, he didn’t linger long in his quarters.

When he was sure nobody was watching him, Prussia slipped away and began to wind his way through the halls.  He had memorized the path to Japan’s room, more or less, but he was nevertheless filled with apprehension as he made his way there.  It wasn’t likely that anyone would be watching Japan at the moment, he figured. So, as stealthily as he could, he crept towards the place where he could finally have a moment alone with his friend.

When Prussia turned the final corner, he found the door to Japan’s room open.  He listened hard, but he could hear nothing except his blood pounding in his ears.  As cautiously as he could, he crept up on the room. Still there was silence. He was almost there, now.  Three more painfully slow steps brought him to the threshold, and he peered inside.

Japan wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot chickens. As always, if something doesn't make sense, just ask!  
> You're all beautiful stars in the weird constellation that is life. Don't ever forget that.  
> Love,  
> Jay
> 
> P.S. When I asked Kai for comment, she replied, "My future hangs in the balance again." Very ominous! I think I live with some kind of oracle and/or deity.


	12. Guidance

The last stars of night faded in the indigo west, washed out by the dawn breaking between the mountains at Italy’s feet.  He stepped through the sun-rinsed mist of morning until he reached the highest peak. There, he rested. This was not his destination.  It was only a midpoint, but Italy knew well the value of stopping to gather one’s thoughts now and again. 

The sun’s soft glow warmed his cheek, and he leaned into it with a smile.

“Hi, again,” Italy sighed.  “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Dust whispered with a gentle breeze through the pebbles and rocks piled around him.

“Sorry about that,” Italy continued.  “Things have been really-- really weird lately,” he admitted, shaking his head.  He looked back to the sunrise. “I can’t talk for long. China’s expecting me for tea.  So-- So I promise I’ll talk again soon,” he said, “but right now, I really need your advice.”  He took a breath. “Should I trust Ludwig so soon?” he asked the sky. “Lovi’s really mad at me for going to see him.  He said there was no point in doing it because it’s not like Lud can do anything about Kiku from where he is, and he’s right.  Kind of.” Italy tucked his knees up to his chin. “Lud’s a great strategist. I think you two would get along, actually. He reminds me a lot of you,” Italy laughed.  “Maybe that’s why…”

A cloud drifted across the sun, momentarily bathing Italy in a shadow.

“The point is, I trust his advice, even if I’m not sure if I really trust him.  Does that make sense? He can’t do anything about Kiku, but I can. I just… I can’t do it all by myself.  That’s all. I need all the help I can get. Lovi’s been really helpful, even if he’s been grouchy. You wouldn’t believe it.  He offered--actually offered!--to cover my work today so I would have the time to make this trip before curfew.

“Francis and Antonio have helped a bit.  I think they’re still tired from the war, though.  England’s been a real jerk. I’m sure you’re not surprised there,” said Italy, tossing a smile at the sun.  “He’s usually not this bad. I think he means well. I just can’t figure out who he thinks he’s helping. America, maybe?  What do you think?” He paused, nonplussed by the resulting silence. “Yeah,” Italy sighed. “America, maybe. But he’s not the one I want to talk about, so I guess I’ll just cut to the chase already.

“If I decide to keep reaching out to Lud, it’s gonna be dangerous, and Lovi’s gonna be really upset with me for it, I think.  England said that Lovi’ll be the one to take the fall if I get caught, and I know Lovi wouldn’t agree to the risk, but I really think Lud can help us find Kiku, and--”  A gust of wind made him falter. “I guess that’s not the real reason I want to see him, is it? I want things to be like they were before, back during… well. I don’t want that either.”  Italy frowned at the brightening landscape below. “It’s really rotten seeing the best in people, sometimes. I think things could be good between us. Maybe better than they were before, or just maybe even like things were between you and me,” he added with a hopeful smile that faltered the instant he finished his thought.  “Because that ended so well.”

Italy ran a troubled hand through his hair and muttered, “Maybe I really am as dumb as people say I am.”

The sun shone as steadily as it ever had.

“Tell Grandpa hello for me, will you?,” Italy went on.  “Make sure he hasn’t forgotten about me yet, okay? And Gilbert, too, if you see him,” he added, getting slowly to his feet.  “I hope he’s not too mad at me.”

Italy took a deep breath and tilted his head towards the sky above.  “I miss you, Holy Rome,” he whispered. “I miss you so much, but I’m glad that we got to talk today.  I’ll make sure it happens more often from now on. I promise.” He stalled there for a moment, caught in the seam where heaven and earth melted together there in the dawnlight.  “I guess I’ll be going now,” he said, unmoving. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let the sun caress his face. “Don’t forget,” he breathed. “I still love you.”

In the span of a heartbeat, a certain pressure rose from Italy’s chest.  He breathed all the easier for it. There was a smile on his face when he took the first step of the rest of his journey, whistling a simple tune.

The road stretched on as the sun rose higher, but at every turn, there was something beautiful to see.  Pleasant clumps of trees and chirping streams all begged Italy to stay for a moment, for an hour, for a day.  Italy only humored the lesser of these requests. Free as he was, he was still confined to a time limit, and so he bid the pretty little things all around him a smile and a nod as he passed them by.

China’s house, he discovered, was just as full of pretty little things as the road that had taken him to it.  Greenery flowed from hanging baskets along lush paths of stone and wood. A crowd of birds fluttered to a farther bush when Italy passed over the footbridge that led to China’s doorstep.

He knocked. 

A tiny dog yipped twice from behind the door.  “Hush!” followed China’s muffled reprimand, and the dog quieted.  When the door swung open, Italy found China with a polite smile on his face and dark circles under his eyes.  “Italy,” he stated, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”

“It’s good to see you, China,” Italy cordially replied as he entered.  Pochi danced in delighted circles around his ankles while he shucked off his shoes.  “And it’s good to see you, too, Pochi!” Italy giggled at the dog. “Have you been a good doggie for Mr. China?”

“No,” China pouted.  “He’s been miserable and rebellious ever since he got here.”

“What, really?” Italy exclaimed, straightening.  “He’s normally really well-behaved!”

China gave Italy a doubtful frown.  “Japan has spoiled this dog,” he patiently informed him, intensifying his frown to glare down his nose at Pochi.  “He turns his nose up at my food and cries at night unless I let him sleep with me, and every time Russia comes around, he goes barking and growling at him like he can’t stand not being the center of attention.  And then, when I finally shut him out of the room so that we can speak in peace, he goes off to gnaw on Russia’s boots,” he finished, escorting Italy into his sitting room, where a teapot waited for them on the table.

“Bad Pochi!” Italy gasped.  “What would Japan think of all that?”  Pochi’s tail wagged harder, and Italy’s shoulders slumped.  “At least you’re being good right now,” he conceded.

“Yes,” China sighed, taking a seat by the tea.  “A regular angel, in fact. Probably just to spite me for telling on him.”

With his little tail still wagging, Pochi found his favorite chew toy and nestled himself at their feet.

Italy had to stifle a laugh.

“Enough about the dog,” China went on, pouring two cups.  “I hear you’re finally a free man.”

“More or less,” Italy replied.  “But I still have a curfew, and there are some rules I still have to play by-- but I’m sure you know about those,” he added with a nervous laugh.

“Not at all,” said China.  “My old allies forgot me the day the war ended.  Have some tea.”

Italy took the cup and furrowed his brow.  “Thanks,” he murmured. “So you guys don’t talk anymore?”

“Except for Russia, no,” China admitted, blowing away a cloud of steam.  He took a sip. “Don’t look so troubled. I didn’t go to war to make friends.”

“No,” Italy laughed.  “I don’t suppose you were very friendly.”

China pursed his lips.  “That was nothing personal, by the way,” he said.  “Shooting you was the only way I could have gotten Germany to agree to give up.”  

“Well, you did what I couldn’t,” Italy replied with an odd waver in his voice.  “And, hey, we got out in the end, so I won’t hold it against you.” He took a sip of his tea before he added, “At least, I won’t hold it against you if you answer something for me.  Why did you really let us go?”

China shifted in his seat.  “I thought I told you,” he said.  “Killing you and your allies would have been incredibly inconvenient for me and mine, so a decision was made to let you go.”

“A decision was made,” Italy slowly repeated.  “You know, I’m starting to think you never told the others.”

There was a brief pause before China’s lips twitched upward and he said, “You’re related to your grandfather after all-- but I think we’ve gotten off track.”  He set down his cup and folded his hands together. “You wanted to talk about Japan, and we’re on a time-crunch. So, let’s get to it.”

“Right,” Italy sighed.  “Now that I have a little more freedom, I’ve decided to do some investigating of my own, and I was hoping we could work together,” he explained.  “Do you have any leads?”

A bird landed on a branch outside.  China watched it silently until it took off again.  “Russia and I went to question America about the coin we found,” he finally began.

“And?”

“He recognized it,” said China.  “He said he gave it to Japan as a gift and insisted that it was part of Japan’s collection.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything useful,” Italy lamented.  “Besides, he might have been lying.”

“I considered that,” said China with a nod.  “However, his behavior couldn’t have been lying,” he added.  “When we asked to check his house, he adamantly refused to let us in.  Tell me, does that seem like the behavior of a man with nothing on his conscience?”

“That is suspicious,” Italy muttered, frowning into his tea.  “And after everything, he has the most ties to Japan’s disappearance.”

“Precisely,” said China.  “He won’t let me or Russia anywhere near him, but--” He chewed on his lip and gave Italy a peculiar look.  Italy shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “But you,” he slowly continued. “You’re completely disarming.  You’re the kind of man anyone would let inside.”

“You think so?” Italy hesitantly asked.

“I’m positive,” China replied, his face reflecting his assurance.  “If you’re looking for a place to start, start with him.”

Italy scrunched up his face.  “What,” he laughed, “am I just supposed to waltz up to him and say, ‘Hey, I think you kidnapped my friend, mind if I do some snooping?’  And he’s supposed to just let me in?”

“No, no,” said China, swatting away the suggestion.  “You go to him, and you make him think you’re convinced of his innocence.  That’s what he wants,” he insisted. “He’s feeling outnumbered, and he wants someone to take his side.  I couldn’t pull off that lie. He already knows that I know he has something to do with this, but he would have no reason to suspect you.  Don’t you see?” China asked. “He’ll let you in.”

“I-- I guess so,” Italy stammered, entirely uncertain of this.  

“I know so,” said China.  “Go there, have a look around, and we can discuss what you find.  What do you think? Do we have a plan?”

“It’s more of a plan than I had before,” Italy sheepishly admitted.  “So, alright. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent!” China exclaimed.  He stood, then, and ushered Italy to his feet before prodding him towards the door.  Pochi curiously trailed after them. “If you leave now, you can head east and pass through America’s house on your way home.”

“I don’t know if I have time to--”

“You can run,” China insisted.  “I’ve seen you do it. Besides, crossing the ocean is a straight shot.  There aren’t any hills or anything.”

“I don’t even know where his house is!” said Italy, causing China to roll his eyes and reach for a pen and paper.

“Try one of these addresses,” China instructed as he scrawled out the lines, briefly glancing into an address book when his memory failed him.  “He has a few different houses,” he told Italy. “These are the ones I know about. He seems to favor the one in Virginia, so check that one first,” he finished, slapping the paper into Italy’s hand.

“Well-- alright,” said Italy, somewhat overwhelmed.  “I really don’t know if I can make it before curfew, though.”

“Fine, fine,” China relented.  “But try soon. Japan has been missing for too long.”

Italy tucked the paper into his pocket and nodded.  “Yeah, he has,” he agreed. “I’ll check as soon as I can.  Trust me, I’m just as eager to see him safe as you are.” As he spoke, Pochi pawed at his leg, and he knelt down to pat him.  “You know, China,” he added. “I could take this little guy off your hands if he’s really bothering you that much.” 

“No,” was China’s instant reply.  “He’s finally settled in here,” he said, crossing his arms.  “It wouldn’t do anybody any good to uproot him again.”

A knowing smile found its way onto Italy’s face.  “If you’re sure,” he said.

“Quite.”

Italy gave Pochi one last affectionate scratch behind the ears before he straightened once again.  “In that case, I guess I’ll get going,” he said, still grinning. “Thanks for the tea and-- and everything.”

“You can repay me by giving me every detail of your investigation once you’ve been to see America,” said China, showing Italy to the door.  “Now go before you miss your curfew. The last thing we need is America suspicious of you.”

“Will do,” Italy promised.  “I’ll be in touch soon!”

“I’ll be waiting,” said China.  “Safe travels.”

With a little wave, Italy started back off towards home, finding courage in having a new ally and a new plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moral of the story is: always trust the dog.  
> Thank you for your patience! I've spent the past couple of weeks playing deadline whack-a-mole, so instead of writing a new chapter last week, I took a little break and decided to use my whack-a-mole mallet to hammer out an outline for most of the rest of this fic instead. We're looking at 25 chapters, at the very least. I'm terrible at estimating these things. Flowers was only supposed to be, like, ten chapters long, and here we are, so take that number with a grain (or pile) of salt.  
> As always, thank you all for sticking with us this far! I love hearing your thoughts and reactions, so don't hold back.  
> You're all very, very loved.  
> -Jay


	13. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how you view the ages of nations, this chapter may or may not contain underage drinking. Remember to check the tags for new warnings! As long as this fic is updating, anything can happen.

Despite the mansion’s size, there weren’t many places where one could comfortably rest, Prussia had noticed.  Cold seeped from the walls and in through every window and, naturally, through every moth-eaten coat and blanket in the house.  Any room without a heating source was, therefore, unloungeable, and so when Prussia found himself searching for his fellow captives, this eliminated several possibilities.  For example, there was not a single functioning fireplace in the entire south wing, which had fallen into disrepair something like a decade earlier. It hadn’t been deemed worth repair.  The unfinished rooms in the northern wing were likewise devoid of warmth.

The fact that most of the mansion sat in intolerable chill most of the time was one which Prussia cursed on every occasion except today, when it happened to aid him in his search.  Japan wasn’t his target today, however. No, searching for him outright was too much of a risk with Russia potentially lurking around every corner. Prussia needed information. Surely somebody in the mansion would have it.

Prussia was on his lunch break.  At least, he would have been, had he been spared any food, but even without the prospect of nourishment, he found himself wandering to the kitchens.  At first glance, the room was barren except for inert ovens and dusty pantries. A wisp of fire writhed in the fireplace, however, and it was not a far shot to find Latvia propped up against an empty barrel nearby, nursing a flask.

“Lunch looks good today,” said Prussia, lazily crossing the floor to meet him.

Latvia huffed a bleak laugh.  “Only the finest at Mr. Russia’s house,” he replied with a vague shake of his flask.  “Are you on your lunch break, too?”

“Sure,” said Prussia, plopping down beside him.  He warmed his pale hands over the fire and added, “My lunch looks almost as good as yours.”

Latvia’s small frame rattled with another hollow laugh.  “I wonder if it’s really true that his bosses said we don’t need to eat,” he asked over the tops of his knees.  “It could be just another one of Mr. Russia’s fairy tales, though.”

The fire hissed as it tripped over a spindly twig.  “Do you think he’s holding out on us?” Prussia hazarded.

Latvia shrugged and sloshed down another swallow of booze.  “His bosses invite him to fancy dinners sometimes,” he admitted.  “Afterwards, he just talks about how good the food looked, like he never got to taste it.”  For the first time, he met Prussia’s eyes, his own smoky and dull. “You’re new here,” he said.  “Maybe you haven’t gotten caught up in the fairy tales Mr. Russia likes to tell just yet. What do you think?”

“I don’t think he would bother to hide food from us if he had it.  He’d just eat it without sharing,” Prussia answered after a pause. Latvia frowned at the floor.  “But you have a point,” Prussia continued, earning him another dull glance. “There’s definitely things Russia doesn’t want us to know.”

“You sound like you have something particular in mind,” Latvia warily prompted him.

Prussia let out a breathy, “Yeah,” and shifted where he sat.  “There’s someone else he’s been keeping here,” he delicately explained, “an old friend of mine.  So, I gotta ask.” He watched Latvia’s expression carefully as he asked, “Have you seen Japan around anywhere?  Dark hair, quiet, probably kind of sickly--”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Prussia frowned at him.  “Well you might if you let me finish--”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Latvia insisted, bringing his knees in closer to his chest.

It might have been a trick of the light, but Prussia thought he noticed him trembling.

“Okay, kid,” he breathed, getting slowly back to his feet.  “I’ll let you finish up your break.” Latvia seemed relieved, but that relief vanished when Prussia said, “One more thing.”

Latvia tried to glare at him and asked, rather tremulously, “What?”

“I don’t like drinking alone,” said Prussia, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “Let’s do lunch together sometime.” Without waiting for a reaction, Prussia turned and left the kitchen.

It was fine that Latvia wouldn’t answer him, he told himself.  There were others he could ask. 

He found Estonia not far away, perched atop a rickety ladder in an unused study, attacking a row of books with a feather duster.

“I don’t know about you,” Prussia called up to him, “but after being here, I’m never letting anyone tell me I have too many books ever again.”

Estonia sucked in some dust in his surprise and coughed out, “Prussia!  You startled me.” He craned his neck to see him, but when he found the angle awkward, he decided to slide down the ladder and make his way to solid ground before continuing his half of the conversation.  “It really is a lot of books, isn’t it?” he asked, straightening his glasses. “This place is so big, though. I think if he didn’t have so many books, the shelves would just look sadder.”

“They still look pretty miserable to me,” said Prussia, draping a heavy-lidded glance over the shelves.

Estonia followed his eyes.  He couldn’t see the shelves for all the dust he had yet to sweep away.  “I really do have a lot of work left to do today,” he noted, offering Prussia a polite, yet impatient smile.

“Oh, right,” said Prussia with a placating wave of his hand.  “I get it. I just have a question, that’s all.” When Estonia raised his eyebrows at him, he continued. “You haven’t happened to have seen Japan around lately, have you?”

The same shadow that had possessed Latvia earlier came over Estonia as well, now.  Prussia worried he might clam up just the same, but instead, Estonia hurried past him to check the hallway for unwanted ears before closing the study door.  “If I had seen him,” he said in a hushed tone, “why would you want to know?”

This was progress, Prussia told himself.  “I want to check on him,” he said. “Russia was keeping him in one room, but when I went to check on him a couple of days ago, he was gone.  Can you tell me what happened to him?”

Very slowly, Estonia shook his head.  “He’s still in the mansion,” he finally admitted.

“Where?”

Estonia shook his head more sternly now.  “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” he said.

Prussia huffed in frustration.  “And why’s that?” he bit out. “Latvia wouldn’t talk about it either.  Has Russia been threatening you guys or something?”

There was a long stretch of silence before Estonia returned to his ladder.  “I have work to do,” he said, hauling himself quickly to the top. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get back to yours, too.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Prussia grumbled.  Estonia soundly ignored him. That was alright, Prussia irritably supposed as he saw himself out of the study.  He didn’t need an explanation to figure out exactly what the meaning behind Estonia’s words had been. He knew Russia was heartless.

His hope, then, rested with Lithuania.

Feeling less than optimistic, Prussia checked every sitting room with a working fireplace he could think of, and then, for good measure, poked his head into a few bedrooms.  As far as he knew the eastern wing of the mansion, Lithuania didn’t appear to be in it. He doubled back towards the western wing.

In passing through the labyrinthine passages, he wondered if the mansion’s architect were still alive, and, further, if he might be able to strangle them one day.  It would be cathartic. Then again, Prussia thought, it wasn’t very noble to go strangling the mentally disturbed, as the architect surely must have been.

Lithuania was still nowhere to be seen.  Very much vexed, Prussia retreated, taking care to follow the landmarks he had picked out on his way.  A portrait of some nobleman pointed him past a powder room, which told him to take a left until he circled around a vase of dead asters, whose crumpling petals pointed him through a salon, and then, coincidentally, directly into Lithuania’s path.

“You’re lost again, aren’t you?” Lithuania sighed, barely slowing.  A teapot clinked delicately against a teacup and silver spoon on the tray he carried.  “I don’t have time to lead you back to your office again, you know.”

“I’m not lost,” Prussia answered, hurrying after him.  “Actually, I found just what I was looking for.”

“And what was that?” Lithuania blandly humored him.

“You.”

Lithuania scrunched up his nose as though he smelled a foul odor.  Still, he let up on his brisk pace and settled for a slower stroll.  “I can’t imagine why you’d want to do a thing like that,” he said.

“Are you going to hold a grudge against me forever?” Prussia asked.  “It’s been a few—what, centuries? It’s been centuries. And I’m East Germany now, remember?” he insisted—although he wouldn’t have admitted it had it not suited the purpose of his argument.  “East Germany never did you any harm. Come on, Lithuania. Water under the bridge. It’s time to move on.”

“You’re a scoundrel and an ass, and I don’t have to make nice with you,” Lithuania informed him. “Now tell me what you want.  I’m busy.”

“Well aren’t you Mr. Congeniality,” Prussia mumbled.  “Fine. Have you seen Japan anywhere?”

Lithuania grew even more stern than he had been.  “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah,” said Prussia.  “And I’ll do it as soon as I’ve seen Japan.  Where is he?” He received silence. “Come on!” Prussia whined.  “Don’t hide it. I know you know where he is.”

“Yep.”

“So tell me!”

“Nope,” said Lithuania, mounting a staircase.

“Why not?” Prussia responded, exasperated.

Lithuania halted on the stairs and rounded on Prussia, tea sloshing on his tray.  “Because,” he told Prussia, bearing over him. “It’s not my business to tell you, and it sure isn’t yours.”

“Then whose is it?” Prussia obstinately demanded.

Lithuania stared into his face and said, “Why don’t you go ask Mr. Russia about it?”

Prussia glared up at Lithuania before declaring, “Fine!  Since nobody else in this damned place will tell me anything, I guess I will!”  With that, he stalked off, leaving Lithuania on the staircase.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Lithuania called.

Silently, Prussia turned on his heel and stalked off in the opposite direction instead, but by this point, the action had lost its fire.  

Just when he had begun to wonder if Lithuania had led him astray out of spite, he spied Russia silhouetted against a window at the end of a long, dark hall. 

Prussia steeled himself for the confrontation and approached, his footsteps thundering in the quiet.  “Hey,” he called down the hall. “You and I need to have a little talk.” The words bounced off Russia’s back without any visible effect. “Russia,” he said, now mere inches from Russia’s hunched form.  “I’m talking to you. Don’t ignore—“

An arm slammed into Prussia’s chest, killing the words in his lungs, pinning him to the wall.

“You are far, far away from your office, East Germany,” Russia ground out past a split lip, glaring at him through a swollen, purpling eye.  “Farther still are you from your place in this household,” he added, digging his arm harder into Prussia’s chest. It had become a steel beam against which Prussia could do little except claw and struggle in vain.  “Did you have something to say to me, East Germany?” 

Prussia tightened his jaw and said nothing.  Whether it was courage or air that he lacked, he didn’t know.

Russia breath brushed stagnant against Prussia’s ear.  “If you are meant to know anything about this house or those who live here, I will tell you.  Until then,” he whispered, “get back to work.” 

All at once, Prussia went sliding down the wall, gasping for breath.  When next he looked up, Russia was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aster can be a symbol of patience or a gentle spirit, in case anybody was wondering. And speaking of patience, thank all of you lovely people for yours. As always, your comments and questions are my lifeblood, so fire away!  
> May all of your loved ones be well,  
> Jay


	14. Removing Walls

He was pacing again.  Germany hadn’t built a small house for himself, but these days, it might as well have been a matchbox.  Library, office, down the stairs, up the stairs, dining room, sitting room, library, office, repeat. The half hour he had been allotted outside each day wasn’t nearly enough exercise for him or his dogs, and so, he paced.  

So did his thoughts.

Just as Germany had worn out the floors of the same few rooms in his home, his mind wandered over the same subjects over and over: blueprints, the war, his brother, Italy, Japan, blueprints.  At least, that was the usual pattern. Today, however, he had something new to ponder. 

Italy was so blessedly clever.  When he had told Germany to clean his couch, Germany had thought he might have been joking.  Things had been rather tense between them, after all, and Italy had always favored humor as a means of clearing the air.  Germany had gone to inspect his couch anyway. It couldn’t hurt, he’d reasoned. There he’d found the usual cushions, a shameful amount of dog hair, and a note jammed beneath a healthy layer of both.

After devouring the contents of the note, Germany had shoved it away with the first inside the shotgun shell he had hidden in his desk drawer, but he didn’t need to be holding the note to see every word written out plainly in his mind.  

 

_ Germany, _

_ I don’t know how our meeting went, but I’m assuming I got this into your house somehow.  I wanted to make sure you knew that I’m still looking for Japan, if I didn’t manage it when we talked.  England and the others still don’t want me anywhere near you.  _ ~~_ You might not want me anywhere near _ ~~ _ I have a plan, I just need some time.  Hopefully I’ll get some more clues soon.   _

_ Feli _

_ P.S. I’m going to break into your house on Sunday evening.  Light a fire in the fireplace if there’s any reason I shouldn’t, would you? _

_ P.P.S. It just occurred to me that you might still be mad at me and want to turn me in.  I’ll bring you something good to eat if you promise not to set me up! _

 

Germany’s thoughts spiraled as he once again considered the note and the consequences it threatened.  What could possess Italy to risk his own safety to speak with him, he didn’t know, but it made his chest buzz with excitement and anticipation nonetheless.  Anxiety, too, coursed through his mind and body at the mere thought of it. There would be no chaperones, no walls, no notes to hinder their words--but that could mean that Italy would finally have the chance to speak aloud the harsh, cutting remarks that Germany half expected and wholly deserved.  There was always the chance that the meeting would be strictly professional, a terse, awkward dance around the mystery of Japan’s disappearance and their own issues. Italy would pass on his information, and Germany would supply his objective opinion, and Italy would leave the way he had come in.

The possibility that the meeting could go well was too unlikely and wild a thought for Germany to entertain.  

Briefly, he stopped in his pacing to gaze out the window.  Four guards lounged around a crate in the trampled remains of what had once been his front garden.  They were playing poker, basking in the evening sun, drinking, laughing.

Germany hated them.  

At the very least, he begrudgingly considered, the guards would be thoroughly distracted by their game when it came time for Italy to exact his plan, however it was he would accomplish that.  Soon, he might be able to ask him about it. It would be dark within an hour or two. It was only a matter of time.

There were always his blueprints to keep him occupied, but he knew that he could never work up the focus for it with so many questions on his mind.  So, he pulled up a chair, sat by the fireplace--Italy’s plan seemed so foolhardy that he almost regretted that it was unlit-- and let his thoughts carry him outside his walls to places he could not be.

Absently, he watched the sky outside drench itself in amber and honey.  The lower the sun dropped, the more difficult he found it not to worry about Italy and whether he’d been caught.  That was out of his control, he told himself. It always had been, except that before, he could have gone to rescue him.  Now, he was powerless. 

There was a thump down the hall.  

Germany cast one harried glance at the oblivious guards outside before he rushed to meet the source of the sound.  His dogs beat him there. All three of them had their hindquarters sticking out the door to Germany’s office. There was another thump, and Blackie let out a perplexed bark.

“Heel,” Germany whispered, creeping past his dogs to investigate for himself.  The curtains were drawn over the window behind his desk, but behind them, he could make out the vague shadow of his visitor.  Prussia’s bird tittered excitedly in its cage as another thump sounded off. Germany swept back the curtains.

Italy blinked up at him, first startled, then pleased, and then hesitant.  He gave Germany a little wave through the glass. Germany haltingly returned it.  A smile sparked on Italy’s face at that, and he hurriedly resumed his effort of prying out the nails that had kept Germany’s window fastened shut for all these months.

As far as Germany knew, the guards hadn’t heard what was happening on the opposite side of the house from them.  That didn’t keep Germany from peering all around Italy for any sign of them while he waited for Italy to work out each nail.  It seemed to take an hour, but finally, Italy popped the last one loose with the end of his hammer.

With a thumbs-up from Italy, Germany hastily shoved the window open, and Italy hoisted himself inside after the rush of fresh air that he had invited along with him.  Germany instinctively offered Italy a helping hand. It somehow still surprised him when Italy took it, and it made him wonder, quite distantly, when the last time he’d touched anyone had been.

In a moment, the touch was gone, and Italy was sliding the window shut and whipping the curtains together.  “There,” Italy breathed. 

Germany’s mouth was suddenly very dry. 

“Um,” said Italy, slowly turning to face him.  “Hey.”

“Hello,” Germany dumbly replied.  He licked his lips and tried again.  “Why, erm-- What-- What, exactly, are you…?”

“I brought you some food!” Italy blurted, shrugging off his backpack.  “Here!” he said, drawing out a parcel which he thrust into Germany’s hands.  “You can snack on these all week! Unless you want to eat them all in one go, I mean, I couldn’t really judge you there, but I made a dozen or so, and I guess they won’t exactly be fresh by the end of the week, but I figured you might just want to go ahead and--”

“Thank you,” Germany interrupted him, keenly aware of the tension Italy was attempting to smother with words.  “I truly appreciate it,” he assured him, setting down the bundle, “but you really didn’t have to do this. I wasn’t going to turn you in.”  Italy stared at a pen on Germany’s desk. “You do know that, right?” Germany prompted him as a rock sank in his gut.

“I don’t have too much time,” said Italy, clearing his throat.  “My brother thinks I’m at Mass, and I still have a curfew to think about.”

“Ah,” said Germany.  He swallowed, nodded shortly, and said, “Right to business, then.”

“It’s not like I don’t have any time at all!” Italy quickly amended.  “I want to know how you’ve been! What have you been up to? Are you still working on those blueprints for--”  He faltered as his gaze drifted towards the office door. “What’s up with your dogs?”

At Italy’s words, Germany remembered his dogs, who were still obediently stuck to their spots by the door.  All three of them were whining and fidgeting, large eyes imploring. “Ah,” Germany breathed, laughing at his own brief lapse of memory and the pitiful sight before him.  “They’re just following orders, I believe.”

“Oh,” said Italy, frowning at the miserable creatures.  “I didn’t know you had a command for… that.” He paused.  “Can you tell them to maybe not stare at us like that? It’s making me sad.”

In spite of himself, Germany laughed again and waved the dogs forward.  They rushed Italy in a wave of wagging tails and dancing paws, and Italy greeted them with a delighted gasp.

“Hello!” Italy cooed, furiously petting at them all.  “Hello sweet babies! I thought you were scared of me or something, but no!  You’re just good doggies, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid we don’t get too many visitors,” Germany informed him, an odd warmth twisting around his heart.  “Especially not visitors that give them such attention.”

Italy giggled and delivered his last few pats to the dogs before he straightened up and leaned against Germany’s desk.  “I guess I’ll have to come around more often, then, won’t I?” he asked, grinning over at Germany.

“What you’re doing is incredibly risky,” Germany sighed, dimming Italy’s smile somewhat.  “You really shouldn’t come here unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Well it is necessary,” Italy insisted.

“It must be, if you’re lying about being at Mass,” Germany countered, crossing his arms.  “How many layers of sin is that, exactly?”

Italy waved him off and replied, “I’ll ask the priest about it when I get around to feeling sorry.  Anyway,” he continued as the dogs settled at his feet, “I do really need to talk to you.”

“Right,” Germany agreed.  He perched himself on the opposite end of the desk from Italy and asked, “Have you discovered anything about Japan?”

“Not exactly,” Italy admitted, plucking Germany’s pen from the desk to fiddle with it.  “But I did go to talk with China. He’s convinced America is behind all this.”

“It would make sense,” said Germany.

Italy’s brows furrowed.  “What makes you say that?” he asked.  “Did you find something out?”

“It was quite a while ago,” Germany sighed, shaking his head.  “After you sent me that message in the bread, America stopped by, and I had the chance to ask him about Japan-- he thought it was part of some sort of getting-to-know-you game, I believe-- but he said that his government and Japan’s were working on a trade deal, and that he thought it might make Japan healthier.”  Germany scrunched up his face and added, “He didn’t seem quite right.”

Italy’s face likewise soured.  “That is really weird,” he conceded.  “And America is Japan’s neighbor, more or less.  You said to look close to home, right?” he asked, shooting up his eyebrows at Germany.  “When we were talking in code, that’s what you meant, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly,” said Germany.  “It would make the most sense to me if someone close to Japan-- either geographically or personally-- had been the one to take him.”

“That’s why I went to talk to China!” Italy replied.  “He fits both of those things! But I really don’t think he would have taken him,” he went on.  “He seems like the only other person in the world who cares that he’s missing. He’s even watching Pochi.”

Germany hummed in consideration.  “He’s either worried, or he’s doing all this out of guilt,” he said.  “China can be ruthless. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of that.”

“Oh, of course not,” Italy laughed, involuntarily drawing his leg closer to himself.

Germany winced in sympathy.  “And has he been helpful? Willingly?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Italy admitted.  “He let me come over for tea just to talk about Japan and everything with him.  We had a good time. He even gave me some advice about what to do next.”

Germany hesitated a moment before he said, “You certainly are forgiving.”

Italy watched Prussia’s bird hop from one perch to the next, a distant glaze over his eyes.  “Lud,” he said. “Everyone’s done something that needs forgiving. The older you get, the clearer it gets.  I think it’s a lot better for everyone if we can just hold teacups and conversations instead of grudges. Besides,” he said, a weary smile gracing his lips, “if I can’t forgive him, why should I ever expect anyone to forgive me?”

Germany gripped the edge of his desk, entirely unsure of what to say.

“Anyway,” Italy sighed, relieving Germany of the burden of silence.  “China said that if I went to America and convinced him that I think he’s innocent, he’d let me in, and that would be a good chance to collect evidence.  Do you think it’s a good idea?” he asked. “Do you think I could get away with it?”

The tension seeped out of Germany’s body at the change of topic.  “It sounds reasonable,” he said, leaning back on his arms. “I can’t think of a reason why China would want to send you into a trap, and you can be very convincing when you want to be.”  Before he could stop himself, he added, “You sure had me fooled.”

Italy stiffened, and Germany regretted the words instantly.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at once.

They both frowned at each other, bewildered.

“You have the right to be mad,” Italy hesitantly began.  “I lied to you, Lud. I lied a lot.”

“You lied because you knew I wouldn’t listen,” Germany shot back.  “You were right, too.”

“I should have just told you the truth from the start,” Italy argued, shaking his head.  “I was stupid. I could have done things so much differently, and then--”

“Well so could I!” said Germany.  “You told me the truth, and I treated you like a prisoner instead of a friend that I trusted--that I should have trusted!  I could have done anything else, and it would have been better than that.”

Italy clenched his jaw and said, “I broke your trust.  I think I proved pretty well that I couldn’t be trusted.”

“Apparently I couldn’t be trusted, either!”

The two of them sat in electric silence, each second rolling with a static that grew weaker with every tick of the clock.  “Hey,” Italy sniffled when the tension became bearable again. “You don’t have that map hanging on your wall anymore.”

Germany looked with him at the blank wall across the room.  “I took it down,” he explained. “It reminded me of how I failed.”

Italy closed his eyes and shook his head.  “Don’t feel bad,” he said, his voice flat. “Not many people succeed in conquering the world.”

“No, that’s not--” Germany let out a short puff of air.  “It reminded me of how I failed you, Feli,” he said, pleading with his eyes to be understood.  “You, and everyone else who was relying on me.”

Italy stared at him, then, wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.  Delicately, he nodded. “Can we-- Can we try this whole thing again?” he asked.  “We really screwed it up, before, and I want-- I just think that even if we can’t change what we did, we can-- that maybe we can do things differently from now on,” he said, his voice thick.  “Even if it’s just so we can get Japan back, I want to trust you. I’m gonna try really hard to trust you, and I’m gonna try even harder to make it easy for you to trust me,” he said. “I promise.  I won’t ask you to trust me right away, or ever,” he went on. “I don’t really have the right to--”

“Stop.”

Italy halted his words, seemingly broken from a trance.

“I trust you,” said Germany, old bitter hurts leaving his heart through his eyes.  “I never thought I’d say this to you again, after everything, but I-- there are things I’ve had to think about, and if you’ve tried to make things right, even after what I did--”  He faltered and took a shuddery breath. “I trust you,” he repeated. “Completely.” 

There were tears on Italy’s cheeks, dripping down the bridge of his freckled nose, hanging onto the ends of his eyelashes.  It was a wonder, Germany marvelled, his face being so close-- his hand on his cheek, their lips pressed together for the briefest, sweetest moment.

They split apart the next instant, both of them wide-eyed and startled at themselves.

“Oh God,” said Italy.  “You probably weren’t--”

“I didn’t mind,” Germany blurted out, his face hot.  “You’ve always been, erm-- affectionate,” he floundered.  “It isn’t anything-- I mean, I sort of supposed that you--”

“But I didn’t!” Italy frantically replied.  “I mean now, I-- but before, I wasn’t--”

“You weren’t?” Germany asked.

They stared at each other.

“I have to go,” said Italy, bumping first into the desk, and then Germany’s chair on the way back to the window.  “I’m gonna go investigate America as soon as I can,” he said as he pushed back the curtains. “I’ll tell you all about it later, so, you know, um, take care, and everything!”

“Feli, wait,” Germany pleaded, meeting him by the window and taking hold of his arm.  “Just a moment, please.”

Italy stopped.  There was something like fear in his eyes.

“I still trust you,” said Germany, releasing Italy’s arm just as quickly as he’d grabbed it.  “I mean that.”

Italy let out a breath that had been trapped within his tight chest.  “I meant what I said, too,” he said, relaxing somewhat. “I’m gonna try really hard to trust you, too.”

“Alright,” said Germany, his voice small.

An odd wave of emotion surged across Italy’s face before he pulled Germany into a tight embrace.  “Take care of yourself,” he said, pecking Germany on the cheek. “We’ll talk again soon. I promise.”

“Alright,” Germany repeated just as softly.  “Please be careful,” he said, forcing himself to let go and put Italy at an arm’s length.  

“I will be,” said Italy, offering him a smile.  

“And, um,” Germany added, clearing his throat.  “Don’t forget to put the nails back in place before you leave,” he said.  “The guards might check.”

“Oh,” Italy laughed.  “Right. Don’t worry, Lud.  I’ll make sure you’re more stuck than you were when I got here.”

Germany huffed a laugh himself, his eyes lingering on Italy’s until Italy at last turned to leave.  The moment the window opened, the two of them were silent, wary, watchful. Italy slipped noiselessly out, and Germany, though it pained him, closed himself back in.  He watched Italy deftly slip the nails back into place as best as he could-- a few of them were too bent to replace-- and then, with an exchange of waves, Italy disappeared into the newborn night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Kai, who dragged me out of the dumpster and helped me finish this chapter, and also pointed out to me how ridiculous it is that after 136k ish words of slowburn, I still think it's too soon.   
> I hope you'll forgive the delays! I get to present my research (aaah???) at a symposium (AHHH??!?) in a couple of weeks, and between preparing for that and the rest of life, I've been a busy, busy bee.   
> As always, thank you for your patience, and I would love to hear your thoughts.  
> May your shoes stay tied,  
> Jay


	15. The Blame Game

Germany didn’t hate him.  More importantly, Italy realized, he didn’t hate Germany either.  That surprised him. He had every right to hate Germany, or at least to be upset with him--and maybe he was still upset with him, but that was certainly not the only sentiment he held towards his once-ally, once-friend, once-enemy, now-something-different-than-that.  Whatever Germany was to him now, he had no cause to trust him, let alone love--

That was a strong word, he thought.  It could be the right word, but it was a strong one, nonetheless.  Love was dangerous, he reminded himself, troubled. Love meant vulnerability.  Love meant abandonment and loss and heartache, among other things.

He’d kissed him anyway.

A kiss didn’t mean anything at all, Italy assured himself.  He’d kissed loads of people. A kiss certainly didn’t mean love.  There were some things, however, like care and trust and devotion and affection that almost certainly did mean love, and Italy was guilty of nearly all those things.

A thud across the table jolted Italy to full awareness of the present, where his brother was watching him from across the breakfast table with a vague air of annoyance.

“Oh, was that loud?” Romano asked, glancing down at the coffee still sloshing in his mug with mock surprise.  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he drawled. “Go back to sleep.”

Italy frowned deeply at him and muttered, “I wasn’t sleeping.” 

“Well you sure weren’t eating my food, either,” Romano told him.  “It’s gonna get cold if you don’t start eating.”

“Sorry,” Italy mumbled as he picked up his fork.

“And if you weren’t sleeping,” Romano added, “then you have something on your mind.  It’s barely even day yet, and you’re already daydreaming.”

“There’s a lot going on,” Italy replied.  He poked at his eggs, avoiding Romano’s eyes.  “Aren’t you nervous about today?”

Romano scoffed.  “Nervous?” he repeated.  “It’s just America. The guy’s as ditzy as you.  Besides, worst case scenario, we don’t find Japan.  And you’re not nervous, either,” he pointed out with his fork.  “You get all bouncy and shit when you’re nervous.”

“So what?” Italy yawned.  “Maybe the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Romano glowered distrustfully at him.  “Fine then,” he said. “Don’t tell me about whatever it is that’s got you all moody so early.  Just don’t let it become my problem later, got it?”

“Whatever you say, Lovi,” said Italy, perfectly content to change the subject.  “You and America used to be kind of close, right?”

“I’m not sure if I’d say that,” Romano replied.  He took a sip of coffee before he said, “I worked for him a decade or two ago.  He didn’t seem so bad then, but if he really has done something to Japan, I’ll kick his ass so hard that England will feel it.  It doesn’t matter how nice or charming he was.” 

“You can’t kick his ass yet,” Italy patiently reminded him.  “We have to get him to trust us so he’ll let us in. Once we have some evidence,” he happily continued, “then you can kick his ass.”

“Right, right, whatever,” Romano conceded.  “You still might have to hold me back, though,” he said, sporting a slanted grin that Italy had come to know as the one he most often wore when he decorated the truth.

The two of them spent a fair portion of the morning ironing out their plan as they crossed the tranquil sea to America.  Once they reached land, however, it took them nearly an hour longer to locate the most promising address that China had given them.

The scent of the ocean still clung to their clothes when they stepped from their nations’ path into America’s driveway.  “I hope he’s here,” said Italy, taking in the charm and scale of America’s home in the country. “I can kind of see why this house is supposed to be his favorite.”

“There’s a car here, at least,” Romano noted.  He marvelled at the way the morning sun glinted off the shiny red finish and added, “A damned nice one, too.  I’d say he’s gotta be here.”

“I guess there’s one way to find out, huh?” said Italy.  He let out a tense breath and started for the door.

Romano bumped ahead of him before he reached it.  “See, now you’re really nervous,” he remarked, stepping up to the door himself.  “Relax. He knows me better. Just stand back, and I’ll do the talking.”

Italy wasn’t given a single moment to protest before Romano pressed the doorbell.  A vague buzzing sounded from deep within the home, and then faded into silence when Romano released the button.  Wind rustled through the trees lining the drive. Romano jabbed the button again, and this time, he held it until they heard footsteps.

“Coming!” was America’s muffled cry.  His footsteps grew louder, soon replaced by the click of locks sliding undone.  This process went on for an alarming amount of time before the door swung open, stopped after mere inches by its chain.  Finally, America peered through the gap with narrowed eyes and asked, “Can I help you?”

“America!” Romano greeted him, throwing on his best grin.  “It’s so good to see you! How have you been? Can we come inside?”  When America only continued his wary stare, Romano continued, “See, I was just telling my little brother here about what a great team we were back in the day, and--” 

“Sorry, I don’t have time to chat,” said America just before shutting the door on Italy’s foot.

“Wait a minute!” Italy called out, stubbornly refusing to let America shut them out so soon.  “Please just wait!”

“I’m busy,” America huffed.  “Get your foot out of my door,” he added, doing his best to crush Italy’s shoe.

Italy gritted his teeth against the pain and pleaded, “We really just wanna talk!  Japan’s been missing for a long time and you’re the only one we can trust to help us find him!”

“Yeah,” Romano hesitantly supplied.  “Nobody else will help us.”

America stared at them for a long moment before his expression softened.  “You gotta move your foot if you want me to let you in,” he finally said.

“Oh!” Italy exclaimed, pulling his foot away.  “Thank you!”

In the brief time it took America to close the door and pull away the chain, Romano bitterly muttered, “Let’s do things your way, then.”

“I’ll do the talking,” Italy cheerfully whispered just before America reappeared in the doorway and waved them inside.

Despite the lamps and sunlight illuminating the inside of the house, darkness and dust still hung in the air.  These were accompanied by a chill against which America guarded himself with a thin house robe. The fabric fluttered in his wake as he led them through to the sitting room.  “Your house is really pretty,” Italy told America, although it was mostly to excuse his wandering eyes. “I like the way you’ve decorated,” he went on. The home was well-furnished, all tall, luxurious curtains and glossy wooden floors.  There was nothing terribly suspicious about this, so Italy kindly added, “Those daisies by the window really make the place feel fresh.”

“Thanks,” said America, lazily gesturing his guests to their seats as they reached the sitting room.  “I try to keep things looking nice in here. The flowers are fake, though,” he admitted. “I spend too much time away these days to really keep track of houseplants.”

“Busy as usual?” Romano prompted him as he settled into his seat.

America smiled stiffly at him and replied, “You have no idea.”  There was such a dull kind of defeat in his eyes in that moment.  Italy was sure it didn’t belong in the eyes of a nation so young-- but then, he supposed war had aged them all faster than they deserved.  “I’m sure you’ll understand that we need to make this short and sweet,” America continued, swinging his ankle up to rest on his knee. “Can’t be burning daylight, after all.  So, what exactly do you want to talk about?” 

Italy glanced at his brother before he hesitantly began, “Japan’s been gone for a long time now, and-- well, we’re just desperate to find him, at this point.  We’re looking for any information we can get.” 

“And what on earth would I know about Japan?” America asked, his tone at odds with his placid smile.

Italy scooted forward in his seat and asked, “You two were friends, right?”  In spite of Italy’s bitterness and distrust, his words weren’t meant to be an accusation, and Italy made sure that America knew it.  “He talked about you sometimes, you know. Even during the war, he always admired you,” he said, the lies scorching his throat like bile.  “Really, I think it hurt him to have to fight you like that. He would tell us that after the war, he hoped to make things right with you again.  Japan doesn’t have too many good friends like that, you know? And it-- well, it shows,” he grimaced. “There just doesn’t seem to be anyone else who cares that he’s missing.  There are so many nations, so many people who could be out there looking for him, and I really think we could have found him by now if people would just…” he trailed off and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

“Keep going, Veneziano,” said Romano, patting his brother’s arm with as much sincerity as he could muster.  “It’s alright.”

“Oh, thank you Roma,” Italy sniffled  “It’s just,” he breathed, turning back to America.  “You’re one of the only people we’re sure couldn’t have taken him.”

Genuine shock furrowed America’s brow.  “Well that’s new,” he said. “Usually people are saying just the opposite.  I mean, they’re all wrong, of course, but I still gotta ask: what makes you so sure?”

Italy blinked back at him, a perfect mirror of his surprise.  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “Why, you don’t have a motive.”

“He’s right,” Romano chimed in.  “What business would a guy as well-off as you have in kidnapping someone you just beat, anyway?”

“And an old friend at that,” Italy pointedly added.  “It just wouldn’t make sense for you to go and do something like that.  That’s why we’re here,” he said. “We really need your help.  _ I _ need your help,” he sighed.  “If I don’t find Japan, I’ll never be able to make things right with him.  Do you… Do you understand?” Italy finished.

The moment he met America’s eyes, he knew he had won.

“I get it,” said America, the words more genuine than anything he had said before.  “I really get it, and I really want to help, but--”

“But what?” Romano protested, indignant.

America frowned at him.  “But,” he stated, “my hands are tied, here.”

Romano frowned right back.  “They look pretty damned free to me.”

“Well I’m--they’re not!” America emphatically assured him.  “If you think the guys in charge don’t watch me like a hawk--”  He let out a mirthless laugh and shook his head. “I got so much stuff to do that my responsibilities have responsibilities.  If I fall behind for even a single day, everything’s going to fall to pieces.”

“So let me make sure I have this right,” said Italy, now utterly failing to keep the accusation out of his voice.  “You’re too busy to look for your friend-- our friend, even-- a fellow nation, who’s been missing, maybe even kidnapped.  That’s really your excuse?”

“That’s not it!” America insisted.  “Look,” he huffed, combing an angry hand through his hair.  “Everyone already thinks I have something to do with this. If I start looking for Japan, people are just going to twist whatever I say and make it look like I’m just trying to get the blame off my back instead of actually looking for him.  If I say who did it, nobody’s gonna believe me, and if I find any evidence, they’ll all say I planted it.” His whole face twisted in distress. “The best thing I can do for Japan is stay out of this until he gets found.”

Italy watched with cold eyes as America lowered his head.  Then, he got to his feet and muttered, “That’s what we thought you’d say.”

America jerked his head up.  “What was that?” he whispered.

“Nothing,” Italy tartly dismissed him.  “Come on, Roma. We should be heading back.  We have a lot of work to do, since nobody’s going to help us.”

“Right,” said Romano, but before he managed to follow his brother’s lead, America shot up from his seat.

“Wait just a minute!” he cried.  “I’m not just gonna let you walk away like that!”

A spark of triumph flickered across Italy’s face.  “You’re wasting our time,” he said very sternly. “And we’re wasting yours.  You’re very busy, after all, and it’s best if we just--”

“Maybe I can’t help Japan,” America fervently interrupted him, “but I can still help you.  Tell me what you need. I want Japan found just as bad as you guys do. Maybe even more. My whole reputation is on the line.  So tell me,” he insisted. “I want to help.”

“You do?” Italy asked, the picture of surprise.  “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” America told him.  “Both of you, sit back down. We can talk things over.  Anything you need,” he reiterated. “Just say the word.”

Italy and Romano shared a brief look before Italy settled back down.  “Well, to start,” said Italy, “any leads you have would be helpful.”

“And, erm,” Romano coughed, “if you could point me to the gentleman’s room, that would be helpful, too.”

“What?” America asked, momentarily bewildered before he added, “Oh.  It’s down that way. Do you want me to show you…?”

“I think I’ll find it,” Romano assured him, getting quickly to his feet.  “This way, you said?”

“Yeah, just down that hall,” said America, waving him on.  “Now, where were we?” he asked Italy.

“Leads,” Italy reminded him.

“Leads!” America exclaimed.  “Hear me out,” he began. “England’s been saying that Japan probably just went and holed himself up somewhere.  He can be kind of a hermit sometimes. He’s done it before, and all that, and he wants to avoid imprisonment. That’s what England tells anyone who asks, but I don’t know if I believe that,” said America, lowering his voice.  “Listen. Russia’s been trying to pin this all on me since day one. He’s just been way too invested in this whole thing, and with him and China working together like they are, I bet China’s in on it, too.”

Rather than point out to America that he, too, had been acting strangely, Italy asked, “What would China have to gain from putting on an act like that?”

America sourly thinned his lips and said, “I just figure anyone would have to have a damned good reason for putting up with Russia this long.  I don’t know exactly what they’re up to. Maybe they want ransom money. Maybe this is some twisted revenge scheme. Those two have a rocky history with Japan at best,” he said with a shake of his head.  “They might even be doing this just to make me look bad. Maybe they’re bitter about how they didn’t get as nice of a cut of the winnings after the war. I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair.  “I really, really don’t know. It’s all just theory, but they have clear motive, right?” he asked. “I’m not crazy to be seeing this, right?” 

“No,” Italy slowly replied.  “That actually sounds pretty reasonable,” he said despite his own lack of conviction.  “So, you think I should be investigating Russia?”

“And China too.  I’m sure of it,” said America.  “In fact, why don’t you--” He paused with his mouth hanging open nearly as wide as his eyes.  “Oh!” he gasped. “Oh, that’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“You!” America replied.  “I have a job for you! Listen,” he said, excitedly adjusting his glasses.  “Go see Russia. Don’t let him know you’re on to him. In fact, make him think you want to be his friend.  There’s no way he’d turn you away if you pretended to get all chummy with him.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on Italy, who only nodded as though he’d never heard of such a plan.

“While you’re at Russia’s place,” America continued, “look for signs of Japan, obviously.  That’s objective one. Objective two, though-- hang on.” He searched wildly around the room before he stood and said, “Wait right here.  I’ll be two seconds.” 

Romano nearly collided with America at the mouth of the hallway, but America brushed past him with only his goal in mind.  “What’s that about?” Romano asked, brows furrowed.

Italy only shrugged.

Less than a minute later, America returned bearing a wooden crate.  “Mission two,” he repeated, setting the box down in front of Italy and Romano with a victorious thud.  “If you’re going to pay Russia a visit anyway, I’d like you to test out this equipment for me. It’s state of the art recording equipment--well, more of a prototype, but it’s good stuff.  Made in the USA,” he said with an overwide grin. “You just slip it on under your coat, press a little switch, and it records everything you hear without letting anyone know you’re recording anything.  It’s practically undetectable, get it? You can test it out for me.”

Romano eyed the crate skeptically and said, “How does that help us?”

“Or you?” Italy added.

“I’m getting to that.  Relax,” said America, letting the word linger in his mouth a second too long.  “It’s good for you because I’ll let you keep the recordings-- after I make copies, of course,” he informed them.  “You know, just something to give back to the engineers so they can work out the kinks. Anyway, you get the copies.  It’ll help you keep a record of your investigation, and it’ll help me because I just don’t have the time to test this equipment on my own.”

“Alright,” Romano hesitantly agreed.  “But why do we need to test it at Russia’s place?  Why couldn’t you just test it here?”

“It’s simple, really,” said America, leaning back in his seat.  “I just need to know that it works in cold places.”

Italy gingerly lifted the lid off the box and peered inside.  It was an unfathomable mess of wires. “Okay,” he said, frowning doubtfully into the box.  “This is more than we had before, I guess.”

“Of course it is,” said America, showing off a toothy grin.  “Do we have a deal?”

“What do we have to lose?” Romano sighed.

“It’s a deal,” said Italy, struggling to return the vigor of America’s handshake.  “I’m sure with your help, we’ll find Japan in no time.”

“I hope so,” said America.  “No-- I know so,” he amended.  “With you two on the case, there’s no way this can go wrong.”  At last, he released his firm grip of Italy’s hand and said, “Well, fellows, it’s been wonderful catching up, but I really have to get back to work.  Let me show you to the door.”

Box in tow, Italy and Romano exchanged a few lingering pleasantries with America until they found themselves out in the sunlight once more.

“That went better than expected,” Romano sighed, stretching his arms above his head while he conjured up a path home.

“He seemed… off,” said Italy.

“No kidding,” Romano agreed.  “I can’t tell what order his priorities are in, but I can guarantee that his reputation has a higher place than finding Japan ever will.”

“I don’t know,” Italy hummed.  “And he seems way too interested in Russia, too.  I need to think about it some more, but I can do that later.  First, you did get some snooping in, right?” Italy excitedly prompted him.

“Of course I did,” Romano scoffed.  “What, you didn’t think I actually needed the toilet, did you?”

“Maybe,” Italy teased him.  “Seriously, what did you find?”

“Nothing too strange,” Romano smugly replied, pulling a newspaper out of the folds of his jacket.  “Just this newspaper. In Russian.”

“What?” Italy gasped, snatching it out of his hands.  “Weird!” he exclaimed, unfurling the newspaper as he walked.  Unfamiliar characters bounced before his eyes, accompanied by a handful of photos of people Italy could only assume were politicians.  “What does it say?”

“Do I look like I can read that shit?” Romano huffed.  “I just thought it was weird that he’d have something like that, and the fact that he’s sending us off to spy on Russia really adds a whole other layer of creepy to it.”

Italy passed the newspaper back to Romano and hummed in thought.  “That is kind of strange,” he agreed. “But I can’t think of what this might have to do with Japan.  Hey! Wait a second!” he said, whirling to face Romano. “You stole that!”

Romano rolled his eyes.  “Like you never stole anything before,” he said.  “Don’t get your panties in a knot. I found it in his trash.”

“You dug through his trash?” Italy asked, the alarm he had expressed replaced with subtle repulsion.

“It’s not like I had options!” Romano defensively replied.  “It was the wastebasket or his china cabinet, okay? And I think he would have noticed if I’d shoved a couple of dinner plates down my shirt.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Italy relented.  “Still, that newspaper was more than I was hoping for.  America has so many houses that even if he does have Japan, it would have been kind of a long shot to hope that we’d just happen to pick the right address first thing.”

The two of them walked on for a while, each stuck in his own thoughts and the gentle press of the breeze.

“You know,” said Romano once they found the sea again.  “I’m kind of proud of you.”

“You are?” Italy asked, torn between a smile and his uncertainty.  “What for?” .

“Back there, you didn’t ask about Germany,” Romano answered him.  “Not even once.”

“I guess I didn’t, did I?”  Italy forced out a laugh. “Maybe I’m just not as worried about him as I used to be.”

“Well, good,” said Romano.  “Whatever it is, keep it that way.  You don’t need that bastard in your life, and we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Speaking of fish,” said Italy, staring off into the ocean.  “Do you think Antonio would feed us if we stopped by his place?  I’m hungry.”

Romano huffed a laugh.

“Let’s stop by,” Italy continued, shifting the weight of the box under his arm.  “Come on. You can tell him to make us some lunch.”

“You say that like I’m in charge of him or something.”

“You say that like you aren’t.”

Romano snickered at that.  “I guess we’ll have to go pay him a visit just so I can prove a point, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't been on here much lately, but I want you all to know that I still am helping brainstorm and beta-reading chapters! I read every comment and appreciate all the support. I'm finishing up my student teaching experience this next week and have been doing many many many adulting things including submitting a 40 page document to try to obtain my teaching license (grade pending and it terrifies me), buying my first car, and signing a job contract. Life has been very busy and stressful, but I have always been making time to help out with this fic where I can. Jay is a beautiful creature that has been supporting me through all this and your comments help ease the stress of this time. Keep being wonderful people! As my responsibilities lessen these coming weeks I'll probably be more active on here again. I love you all!  
> ~Kai
> 
> Daisies can symbolize happiness and lies, among other things. Interpret that as you will.  
> I read over this chapter three times before showing it to Kai, who found four typos and is apparently my last functioning brain cell. That being said, my schedule should be clearing up soon. Hopefully that means it won't be another two weeks before the next chapter gets hammered out. Thank you all for your patience and for being so lovely.  
> May your socks stay un-holey,  
> Jay


	16. Suspicion

He would have been bored if he hadn’t been so sick.  There was nothing to do in this new room, not that there had been much at all in the one Russia had kept him in before, either.  All Japan had found here were more nausea and cobwebs and mystery than ever.

His thoughts had been harder and harder to collect, these past days.  Weeks. Hours. He couldn’t tell anymore. Japan thought he had a fever, or perhaps that the room was simply very cold.  Maybe both of those things were true at once. He didn’t know. All he was sure of was that he wanted nothing more than to let the incomprehensible nonsense that had become his dismal reality fall into sleep’s sweet oblivion, and him with it.  

That would have been far preferable to the pounding at his door.

It could have been a gentle knock for all Japan knew, but the room was so silent that it didn’t matter.  “Come in,” he sighed, letting his head loll to face the door.

Just as Japan had anticipated, Lithuania stepped inside, a familiar tea tray balanced in his hands.  He bumped the door shut again with the heel of one of his worn shoes and placed the tray on Japan’s bedside table.

“Good morning, Mr. Japan,” said Lithuania, flashing him a polite smile.  Japan wondered if it truly was morning. He had no real means of knowing, even if he were able to trust this stranger with anything more than the time.  In lieu of a response, Japan simply lay there, watching steam rise as Lithuania poured him his usual cup of tea. He despised it. The drink may have tasted fine on its own, but with whatever foul medicine had been added, he would have rather ingested a tall glass of spit.

“I have your tea,” Lithuania patiently explained as though Japan couldn’t plainly see what was happening.  “Can you try to sit up for me, please?” 

Japan let his eyes flutter shut.  If he kept his eyes closed for long enough, he’d discovered that it felt as though he were floating.  Now Lithuania was pulling him upright, however, and the dizziness of it all forced his eyes back open, forced his stomach to churn violently inside him.  “Bucket,” he muttered, weakly stretching a desperate hand towards it. Lithuania hurriedly helped him lean over the rusty pale as he coughed bile and fire into it.

“There now,” Lithuania soothed him as he retched again.  Beyond the way his sickness wracked his body, Japan couldn’t be sure whether Lithuania was rubbing his back or if it was a mere consequence of his own pathetic trembling.  “All done?” his caretaker asked, still using that painfully delicate voice that Japan decided would be better suited towards a toddler. “Do you still need a minute?”

“I’m fine,” Japan panted.  “Fine,” he repeated, slumping back against the headboard of the bed so limply that his head knocked against the wall.  He barely noticed past the taste of bile on his tongue. “Tea,” he urged. “Water. Something.”

Japan hardly registered the way Lithuania’s expression shifted in deliberation before he answered, “I’ll be right back with some water.”  Once again, Japan squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Lithuania rush away, leaving him to shiver in silence for a long minute before Lithuania returned and pressed a cool glass to his lips.  Japan knew better than to swallow too much at once. One careful sip at a time, he washed the worst of the taste from his mouth, quenched some small portion of his insurmountable thirst. Lithuania allowed him to drink as much as he was able before he took away the glass.

“Thank you,” Japan breathed, still panting from the effort of it all.

“Of course,” Lithuania easily replied.  He stepped back to fiddle with his tea tray, leaving Japan room to breathe.

Japan took full advantage of the respite.  He closed his eyes, using all his energy to force down his remaining nausea with deep, shuddery breaths.  He had only managed a few of these, however, when an ice-cold rag shocked a gasp out of him.

“You’re burning up,” Lithuania murmured, concern etched into the creases on his face.  He momentarily pulled the cloth away to feel Japan’s forehead with the back of his hand.  “That’s definitely a fever, Mr. Japan,” he sighed.

Japan flinched away when the rag returned.  “Please stop that,” he weakly insisted. “It’s too--” He killed the words on his tongue.  Too what, he thought? Too cold? Too rough? Too much? It was a damp rag. He sounded like a child.

“Of course,” Lithuania gently told him, returning the rag to his tea tray.  Japan hated the relief he felt, and even that sour relief vanished when Lithuania said, “We still need to get you to the washroom, though.”

Japan grimaced, but he refused to complain.  It was necessary, he told himself, and even if Lithuania’s help humiliated him, it was better Lithuania than Russia.  So, he nodded in resignation and let himself be coerced out of bed and hefted into a rickety wheelchair. It was the same chair into which he vaguely recalled being unceremoniously dumped when Russia had hurried him into his new room.  The whole memory was blurry. He had tried to ask Lithuania the reason for his relocation before and had been told that his old room had needed cleaning. While that had certainly been true, Japan found the answer far from satisfactory.  Still, he hadn’t pressed. Part of him wondered whether he had imagined the whole thing.

As always, Lithuania checked to make sure the hall was empty before wheeling Japan into it.  Japan toyed with the idea of asking about that particularly odd habit of his. Instead, however, he settled on trying, “I think some fresh air would do me some good.”

“It probably would,” Lithuania conceded.  He made no effort to alter his washroomward path, however, so Japan dropped that subject, too.  The moment they let him outside, he would run away. There was no question. He would crawl back home if he had to.  He didn’t care if the other nations had decided that imprisonment in Russia’s house was to be his punishment. He wouldn’t tolerate it.  The first chance he had to create a nations’ path home would be the last moment he ever spent a prisoner in Russia’s cursed home.

That was probably why he still hadn’t been allowed to see so much as a glimpse of the outside since he had arrived.

Lithuania wheeled him into the nearest washroom and politely interfered as little as possible while Japan took care of his business.  When Japan finally propped himself up by the sink to wash his hands, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was a specter compared even to Lithuania, whose own sunken eyes hovered over his shoulder, whose own spindly hands kept Japan from crumpling to the floor like a house of cards.

“It would probably be a good idea for you to brush your teeth, Mr. Japan,” Lithuania quietly suggested.

“I agree,” Japan returned in kind.  Laboriously, he fished for his toothbrush and found his mouth with it.  Even after he had finished, the taste of bile still lingered under his tongue.  When at last Lithuania lowered him back into his chair, he breathily admitted, “I haven’t been this sick in at least a century.”

“These things do happen from time to time,” Lithuania replied, hastily escorting him down the hall.

“I suppose,” Japan sighed.  He decided that he had probably only mistaken the sympathy in Lithuania’s voice for guilt.  “Mr. Lithuania,” he said, suddenly possessed with a thought clearer than he had managed in a while.  “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Mr. Russia is wounded.” The only reply he received was the squeak of wheels turning beneath him, so he further prompted him, “It looked like someone hit him.  What happened?”

“Never ask about that,” Lithuania replied in a tone so dark it startled Japan.  “Especially not to Mr. Russia. It’s one of those things,” he said, voice softening only slightly.  “It happens from time to time. All you need to know is that it doesn’t concern you.” Lithuania swiftly wheeled Japan back into his room and pulled the door shut behind them.  “Wait in your chair a minute,” he said. “I need to change your sheets.”

Japan watched him work, warily holding his bewildered silence.  He knew then and there that he would be following Lithuania’s advice when it came to interacting with Russia.  Lithuania lived with the monster, after all. Somehow he had even managed to retain his sanity. That made him worth at least Japan’s respect.  Trust would have to come later. He hoped that understanding of the workings of the house would come sooner than that.

When he finished making the bed, Lithuania peeled back the fresh sheets and helped Japan into them.  “That should feel much nicer,” he told Japan, covering him up with a quilt. “No more dusty, sweaty sheets.”

“It’s much better, thank you,” Japan wearily agreed as he braced himself against the wave of dizziness the motion had induced.  Once he had overcome the worst of it, he attempted a weak smile for his caretaker, but when he looked to Lithuania’s face, he found him distracted.  Japan followed Lithuania’s line of sight to the tea tray on his nightstand, and his smile faded to a grimace. “It’s time for my medicine, isn’t it?” he asked.

Lithuania gazed silently at the tea, his face twitching with a turmoil Japan didn’t understand.  “Mr. Japan,” he said after a heavy, conflicted pause. “I don’t think we’ll be having tea, today.  I don’t think it would be the best thing for your stomach right now.”

Japan furrowed his brow in confusion.  “My medicine is in the tea,” he stated.

“Yes, it is,” Lithuania slowly replied, passing Japan an oddly expectant look.

“Russia said I-- that I have to take it,” Japan continued, his head swimming.  “You said it yourself. But it isn’t helping,” he went on. “At least, it doesn’t seem to be.  It’s horrible, and it isn’t…”

“Mr. Russia is very insistent that I give it to you,” Lithuania carefully explained, still staring intently at Japan.  “There would be consequences if he knew you weren’t taking it.”

Japan searched his eyes, bewildered.  “What are you saying?” he asked.

“Nothing at all,” Lithuania replied.  “Nothing at all,” he repeated, “except that if he asks, you should tell him you drank it,” he explained, delicately pouring the tea from the teacup back into the teapot.  “See?” said Lithuania, presenting Japan with the teacup which was now empty of all but a few stubborn drops. “All gone. You drank it.”

Japan wondered briefly if he had misjudged Lithuania’s sanity.  “I didn’t--”

“You drank it,” Lithuania firmly insisted.  “You didn’t want to, but you know that medicine is supposed to make you feel better,” he said, desperation flashing in his eyes.  “You know that, don’t you, Mr. Japan? Medicine,” he deliberately stated, “is supposed to make you feel better.”

Dread settled in so closely with the nausea in Japan’s gut that he couldn’t tell which made him sicker.  “Am I being poisoned?” he whispered.

“Of course not, Mr. Japan,” Lithuania evenly replied, taking up his tea tray once more.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Japan knew he wasn’t imagining the relief emanating from Lithuania’s very posture, but he couldn’t find any such relief in himself.  Lithuania exited the room and left him with nothing but a teacup, questions, horror and silence until--

“Ah, Lithuania,” came Russia’s muffled voice from the hallway.  “Good morning. How is our patient today?”

“Good morning, Mr. Russia,” Lithuania cordially replied.  “He’s still bedridden, I’m afraid. Have you come to see him?”

“Only to check on his health.  How unfortunate that he is still unable to walk on his own,” Russia sighed, his voice full of pity.  The sound of it made Japan wish for his bucket again. “You’re giving him his medicine as I instructed you, yes?”

“Of course, Mr. Russia,” Lithuania lied.  “How else is he supposed to get better?”

“Exactly,” Russia emphatically replied.  “You are a very good nurse. Today, though, you get to be a chef, too.”

“There’s food?” Lithuania exclaimed in a tone so genuinely shocked that it worried Japan.

“Carrots,” said Russia.  “Potatoes, too. A friend of mine sent them.  See how far you can make them stretch.”

“Yes, Mr. Russia!  Right away!”

Japan heard Russia chuckle as Lithuania hurried away.  Then, as footsteps approached his door, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

The door creaked open.  Japan could imagine Russia standing there, his hand lingering on the doorknob, the shadows of recent wounds on his face.  Footsteps advanced towards him, heavy but gentle. Japan struggled to control his breathing. He could feel Russia standing over him now, feel his gaze upon him, but then it was not just his gaze, but his hand.

It took every shred of Japan’s control not to move while Russia felt his fevered forehead.  The touch seemed to linger a lifetime, but Russia did eventually pull his hand away with a hum of what Japan could only call satisfaction.  Russia turned to go nearly immediately after that. It wasn’t until Japan heard the door shut and locked that he allowed himself to open his eyes again.

The room was empty, he found.  Russia had taken the teacup Lithuania had left behind.  Everything inside Japan lurched and ached to be free, and it ached all the harder that he knew he could only remain a prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your patience! You're all the best.


	17. Two-Faced

In any other house, Italy and Romano would have been perfectly at ease.  Their host had welcomed them with a broad grin and open arms, and there was nothing wrong with the house itself-- at least not outright.  Every piece of Russia’s furniture had character, and it may have been because of all the nicks and patches that they presented themselves all the more inviting.  The house was clean in spite of its size. The chill made the air fresh and easy on the lungs. Still, there was something unsettling about it all.

It could have been the wires hidden under their coats that made them so disconcerted.  Although Italy could barely feel the equipment himself, he could scarcely forget its presence, and he doubted that his brother could, either.  Spying on Russia was delicate work. All he had to do was press a button on his sleeve, and he could begin recording everything Russia said. He didn’t feel particularly bad about what they planned to do, but he was still somehow ill at ease.  

There was something-- a feeling, a sense, an energy in the atmosphere-- something that whispered of melancholy.

“It’s so good of you to come,” said Russia as he guided Italy and Romano through the dim corridor.  “Are you sure I can’t take your coats?”

“We’re sure,” Romano brusquely replied.  “Thanks. Nice shiner, by the way.”

Russia stopped in his tracks to grimace down at Romano, the corner of his eye wrinkling around a bruise.  “Would you like one, too?” he cheerfully asked. “We could match.” 

The air froze, and the color drained from Romano’s face.  Equally terrified of how the situation might progress, Italy hurriedly cut in.  “We really appreciate you letting us meet up with you and China here,” he placated Russia, drawing his attention.  Romano shakily mouthed a curse. “What we need to talk about could be important to you both,” Italy brightly continued.  “You know, since you two have been so helpful in looking for Japan. I always wondered what your house looked like,” he admitted.  He passed a glance around the hall and added, “Cozy.”

“Why thank you, friend Italy!” Russia replied.  “Most people stay for a long time when they come here, so I like to make sure all my guests are as comfortable as they can be.  Oh!” he declared, spotting China and his three servants in a dining room. “Here we are!”

“Finally,” Romano muttered under his breath.

The moment Italy and Romano entered the room, China asked, “Did you find him?”

“Um, no,” Italy regretfully informed him.  “We only--”

“Tell me you found something useful!” China demanded.

“China, please,” Russia implored.  “I know you are growing impatient, but we have time to discuss this.  We’re all friends here,” he said. “Please, everyone, sit. Sit.”

Italy and Romano carefully seated themselves across the table from China and Russia.  Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia silently served them all potato soup and took their leave to the kitchen next door.  Russia let them.

“So,” Russia said, smiling from face to face.  “How are we today?”

“Alright, I guess,” Romano mumbled.

Italy likewise shifted in his seat before saying, “Good.  I’m good. Um,” he said. “Thanks for the soup.”

“You can thank China for it,” said Russia.  “He brought over all the ingredients so we could have a lovely little lunch together, isn’t that right, China?”

“It is,” China dully agreed.  “Can’t we get on with things? These two have a curfew.”

“Oh,” said Russia, crestfallen.  “Then I guess we could get the business started.  Tell us, then, have you found anything useful?”

“You did get into America’s house, didn’t you?” China prompted them.

“We did,” said Italy, taking a polite sip of his soup.  It was incredibly plain. He held his tongue. “He let us right in, just like you said he would.”

“America was acting really weird, though,” said Romano.  “He seemed, well,” he gingerly explained. “Interested in you, Russia.”

“Interested?” Russia curiously prompted him.  “Interested how?”

“He had some newspapers from your place,” said Romano.  “And he seems to think that you and China are to blame for Japan’s disappearance.”

“At least, that’s what he wants us to believe.  Ridiculous, right?” Italy laughed. “That’s just-- It’s so silly!  America is clearly the guilty party here.”

“Ridiculous is a word for it,” China ground out.  “To think that he would accuse me, of all people…”

Russia hummed, long and controlled.  “Well then,” he eventually said. “It sounds like we will need to be just as interested in America as he is in us.”

“I completely agree,” said Italy.  “And we’ll be able to do that. He trusts us now, I think, and it looks like we’ll be able to keep visiting him.  But there’s something else I really have to ask.” He flicked his eyes towards his brother, and at once, they both pressed the buttons on their sleeves that would begin recording everything they heard.  With their sensitive discussion of America out of the way, Italy hoped that whatever conversation followed would satisfy America’s curiosity while also keeping him clueless about their double agency. “Do you have any new clues about where Japan might be?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” China replied.  “First, I was finally able to get in touch with his handlers, so to speak.  Japan’s disappearance seemed like startling new information to them,” he sighed, his face pinched as though he smelled something foul.  “Either they’re all fine actors, or they had no idea that he’s been missing.”

As Italy and Romano simmered over this information, Russia tutted, “How terrible it must be to have leaders so neglectful as that.  I’m grateful to say that nothing like that would ever happen to me-- my leaders care far too much about me for that to ever happen. Perhaps this tells us that whoever has Japan now cares enough about him to know where he is, at least.”  Russia shrugged. “It could be worse.”

“It might be,” said China, the scarce color in his cheeks quickly falling away.  “That’s the other piece of information I was going to share with you all. Every morning since Japan’s disappearance, I’ve stood outside and searched for the heart of him, as nations do.  Do you two understand the concept?” he asked Italy and Romano. “You’re very young, and it is an ancient art.”

“Japan did that once!” Italy declared.  “That’s how he found us when we were all stuck on that island together!”

“So you know that you can travel directly to a nation instead of just their land,” said China.  “It’s a skill that Japan and I share. Every day since his disappearance, I’ve tried to go to him in that way, but I’ve never felt anything other than his land.  I know I haven’t lost the skill,” he hopelessly insisted. “But that only means that he is dead or very weak, or perhaps that he’s hidden deep underground or in some man-made structure, cut-off from the outside world.  There are many things that can obstruct the signal,” he sighed. “None of them are reassuring in the slightest.”

“Well that doesn’t narrow things down much,” Romano puffed.  “So he’s probably not in Japan, and he’s not sitting around outside, unless he’s dead, in which case…”

“He can’t have dissolved,” Russia confidently reassured his disheartened guests.  “In spite of America’s cruelty and the great toll of the war, his land and people are still in one piece.  Keep searching,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll find him soon.”

“I hope you’re right,” said China as a stifled, indecipherable voice floated in from the hall.  “This has all been too much, lately,” China went on. “It’s been war after war, and now this. I’m too old for this nonsense.”  The voice sounded off again, taking the shape of a word that may have been Russia’s name. Russia didn’t seem to notice. “You know, honestly?  The world might be ending, and I’m not sure I’d be sad to see it go.”

“I know you don’t mean that,” said Russia.  “You say that every time you experience an inconvenience.”

“Yes, but this time, I really do mean--”

“--have to do to get in touch with someone around here?” the voice from the hall complained.  Familiarity struck a chord within Italy and Romano, but they couldn’t quite place it. Russia, however, seemed to recognize it instantly.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, surging to his feet, “I think one of the servants is lost.”

“Well it’s no wonder,” Italy laughed.  “You live in such a big house, it’s a wonder anyone can find their way in here!  But hey,” he said, “since you’re getting up, do you think you could show me to the--”

“Just a moment!” Russia impatiently assured him.

“Hey, do I smell food?” said the voice, by now very clear.  “Who’s been holding out?”

“I swear I know that guy from somewhere,” Romano muttered as Russia strutted hurriedly to the door.

He didn’t make it before Prussia entered the room.  “Russia, there you are! I--” He froze, slack jawed at the sight of his friends.  “Romano? Italy? What the hell--”

“Oh my God,” Italy breathed.  “You’re still alive?”

“He’s not even dying!” Romano exclaimed, paralyzed in shock, just like his brother.  “Look at him, he’s--”

“He’s very busy,” Russia ground out, all but tackling Prussia out of the room.  “And he doesn’t have time to chat. China! Please see them to the door.”

“You said he was nearly dead!” said China through a flinty glare.

“He’ll be dead soon, I assure you!” Russia growled over Prussia’s shouting.  Then, he bellowed, “You three!”

Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia crashed into the room the next second, pale-faced and quaking.

“See our guests out!” Russia commanded them.  “Now!”

China, Italy, and Romano were instantly assailed.  “It’s been very nice of you to come,” Lithuania shakily told them, putting a hand on China’s arm.  “And we all really appreciate the food, Mr. China, but it would be best for everyone if you all just let us take you outside.”

“But Prussia is our friend!” Italy protested, failing to shrug out of Estonia’s grip.  “Why can’t we speak to him?”

“Please take our advice,” Estonia desperately replied as they began their slow march to the door.  “You don’t want to be anywhere near here right now. Please leave.”

Romano opened his mouth to tell Latvia to release him, but then he saw the boy’s distant stare and colorless face, and somehow the hold he had on his arm felt less like one meant to steer him out and more like the hold of a frightened child.  “Fine,” he conceded. “We’re going. Loosen up, though. You’re cutting off my circulation, kid.”

After that, they allowed themselves to be escorted out through the eerie quiet of the halls.  When they stepped outside into the dull light of day and looked back at their escorts, it seemed that the three servants would have done nearly anything to trade places with them.  “I’m sure Mr. Russia will be in touch, Mr. China,” Lithuania faintly announced before shutting the door and locking them out.

“Russia lied to me,” China breathed. “He told me that Prussia wasn’t long for this world, and then, this!”

“He looked so healthy,” Italy marveled, holding himself.  “The last time I heard him talk, he was so raspy-- I think his cough might even be gone!”

“That’s great, and all,” Romano glumly agreed, “but what the hell is up with Russia?”

“I don’t know,” said China, shaking his head.  “That’s something I intend to find out. I’m going to need your help.  I can’t… I can’t do all this on my own,” he admitted.

“Nobody could,” Italy reassured him.  “Let’s just, uh… Let’s sleep on this and come up with a new plan tomorrow.  This is all a bit much for everyone, I think.”

“Yeah, alright,” Romano tiredly agreed.  “Let’s get out of here. See you, China.”

China bid them a grim wave and, after a heartbeat, disappeared down a nations’ path.  With one last dazed search over the front of Russia’s house, Italy and Romano followed suit, each wondering what any of this meant at all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author attempts to plug some plot holes before anybody notices them. As always, your patience and feedback give me life.  
> May the hair on your toes never fall out,  
> Jay
> 
> I passed my test! My fate no longer hangs in the balance.  
> ~Kai


	18. Power and Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to smoking and drinking in this chapter. Despite what people would tell you circa 1950, cigarettes are bad for you with or without filters!

Normally, the crisp autumn air would have lifted Canada’s spirits.  He loved the solitude of nature, loved the coarse textures of bark and moss beneath his fingertips, even if he was only passing through to a much more crowded home than his own.  He didn’t mind it. In fact, he had been the one to suggest a family gathering to France. He had been looking forward to it, even, but of course, nothing ever went according to Canada’s plans, and now, he was bitter.

If the forest couldn’t cheer him, the ocean didn’t stand a chance.  His heart belonged to the trees, his soul to the mountains and the wind.  The lazy waves slapping the path ahead of him merely served to remind him of darker times when he had been forced to cross the sea on much more urgent quests than this.  He recognized the silver lining in that. If he could walk freely from his home to France’s without fear of attack, without even carrying more than a knife with which to defend himself, he knew that things could be worse.

Still, they could have been better, too.

Canada ruminated all the way to Portugal, where he finally decided to attempt a cheerier face.  On the off chance that France happened to be in a good mood today, he didn’t want to bring him down.  After all, Canada was perfectly capable of having a good time whether or not his brother had cancelled on him for the third time in a row.  Which, he had. Canada had a right to be sore about it. Once, he could understand. Twice was irritating, but forgivable. Three times, though?  Three times was an insult.

He was halfway through Spain before he remembered that he was meant to be attempting a cheerier face.  He spent the short remainder of the walk deliberately pushing America and all of his nonsense out of his mind, and he had nearly succeeded by the time he found the door to France’s Paris suite.

The door flew open before he could touch it, and England smacked into Canada’s shoulder on the way out.

“Sorry,” Canada reflexively muttered, and then, upon realizing who he was looking at, added, “Wait-- Arthur, where are you going?”

“Oh!” England exclaimed, just as surprised as Canada, but twice as sheepish.  “Sorry lad, didn’t see you there. I-- Well,” he said. “I’m afraid something urgent has come up across the pond, and I just don’t have time today for--”

“It’s Alfred again, isn’t it?” Canada cut in, crossing his arms.  “He was supposed to be here, too, you know.”

“Oh, don’t take it to heart,” England waved him off.  “Your brother has had a rough go of it lately, what with Russia breathing down his neck-- but I’m sure he’s going to come out of this stronger than ever,” he said with a self-assured smile.

“And what does that have to do with you?” Canada demanded.

England stopped, his bushy brows knitting themselves perplexedly together.  “Come now, Matthew,” he said. “There’s no need to be so cross with me. It’s urgent, like I said, and I’m sure we can reschedule.”

“Don’t bother,” Canada sourly muttered.

“Matthew!”

“No, no, go on,” said Canada, waltzing inside with a horribly contrived air of ease.  “Since family is so important to you, and everything. You should go.”

“What on earth has gotten into you?” England asked, incredulous.

“Bye, England,” Canada replied, closing him out with a firm shove of the door, against which he slumped the next moment, closing his eyes in hopes that the quiet of France’s foyer would nip his headache in the bud.

“Don’t mind him,” France’s muted voice wafted from the next room.

“Hi Francis,” Canada sighed.  He pushed himself away from the door, kicked off his shoes, and found France draped across a couch, nursing a fresh glass of brandy.  He sighed again. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“It might be, if this day didn’t already feel a year old.” He raised his glass to take a sip, but then froze halfway, shook his head, and placed the glass aside.  “I’m sorry, Matthew,” he said, making a visibly strained effort to pull himself together. “Thank you for coming. Please,” he added, gesturing vaguely at the seat nearest his.

Weary from more than just his walk, Canada sat.  “I can’t believe they both ran out on us like that,” he said, propping up his cheek on his fist.  “Again. No, actually, I can,” he glumly corrected himself. “It won’t be the last time, either, I bet.”  France merely grimaced at the ceiling as Canada continued, “Is a few hours together too much to ask? We had this planned for a whole week, and of course-- of course!-- something had to come up day-of.  Alfred, I kind of expected, but Arthur-- did he even tell you what he had to go and do? You know, other than how urgent it was.”

“Not in so many words,” said France, letting his head loll over on the plush arm of his couch.  “Let me put it this way,” he began. “Alfred has been doing very well since the end of the war, and Arthur--” he pursed his lips-- “not so much.”

“But what does that have to do with them cancelling on us?” Canada asked, settling himself more comfortably into the chair.

“More than you’d think.  At least, I have a theory it does, anyway,” said France.  “You see-- and you can’t tell Arthur I told you this, but I believe he’s trying to ride your brother’s coattails.”  At Canada’s uncomprehending frown, he gave a conspiratorial nod. “Arthur knows he’s not what he used to be. The war reminded him of as much, but he looks at Alfred, I think, and he sees what he believes he could have been.”

Canada frowned even deeper.  “Not to toot my own horn or anything,” he said, scratching his cheek, “but I’m not so bad off myself these days, either.  My people are feeling pretty good, all things considered. And I’m not jealous!” he quickly assured France. “I’m really not jealous of Arthur… admiring Alfred like that, if what you’re saying is true, but why not me?  Hypothetically, of course,” he finished.

“Because you keep your nose clean,” France replied through a listless chuckle.  “It’s all this mess with Russia. Maybe it’s Alfred, maybe it’s his leaders, but the boy is convinced Russia’s after him.  If you ask me, that wretched war has his mind playing tricks on him, now that it’s over,” France tutted. “But maybe he’s right.  Maybe there really is a whole conspiracy against him, and Arthur’s off being the good caretaker, and I’m sitting here…” He trailed off and let out another dry laugh.  “Whatever the case,” he finally decided. “Arthur has noticed what Alfred’s been up to, and he smells conflict, and where there’s conflict, there’s money, and where there’s money, there’s power, and that, my boy, is why Arthur and Alfred aren’t here.”

Canada sat there for a moment, feeling distantly sick.  “Alfred has been acting weird, lately,” he admitted. “He doesn’t answer my phone calls anymore, and if he ever calls-- which he hardly does-- he does it at odd hours, always from, what was it?  I think the last time he called me,” Canada recalled, “it was from a payphone in Albany. That’s what he said, and when I asked him why, he only said that you never know who’s listening. He didn’t even say anything particularly sensitive, he just…” Canada sighed.  “Great. Now I feel bad for being mad at him, because now I’m actually starting to think he’s not okay.” 

France gave a genuine laugh, then.  “You always do that,” he teased Canada.  “You’re all fire for about, oh, a day,” he said, “and then you take it all back.”

“I lose my temper sometimes,” Canada mumbled, defensive. 

“Don’t you worry about your temper,” France chuckled.  “Even if your brother isn’t at his best right now, you’re entitled to your feelings, you know.  I’m not thrilled with Arthur at the moment, even if I understand him better than he understands himself, sometimes.  Knowing why someone does hurtful things doesn’t make them any less hurtful.”

“Yeah,” Canada reluctantly agreed.  “You know, in a sad way, it’s funny.  I think we saw more of each other during the war than now that it’s over.”

Francis hummed grimly and said, “If it makes you feel any better, I think there might be another soon.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Canada exclaimed.  “After everything-- the last one’s barely ended!”

“I know!” France hopelessly agreed.  “I know, but like I said, my dear-- conflict.  I know you don’t want to hear this, but we’ll be lucky if we have ten more years of peace before it’s time to go and start killing each other again.”

Just enough despair had peeked through the cracks of France’s optimistic facade in that moment that it gave Canada pause.  “Well, it can’t be as bad as the last one,” he said, eyes wide, innocent, young. “Nothing could be as bad as the last one.”

“That’s what I always tell myself, but then--” France bit his tongue and passed Canada a guilty glance.  “Matthew,” he started again. “Maybe you can help me with something. Tell me-- what does peace mean to you?”

Concern pinched Canada’s face.  “I don’t know,” he haltingly replied.  “Not being at war, for one thing.”

“Good,” said France.  “Keep going.”

Canada thought on the question longer and said, “Peace is when… it’s when you don’t have to worry about stuff like getting attacked when you’re out on a walk.  It’s when you’re not concerned about stuff like food rations, or if somebody’s going to make you go on some dangerous mission-- but that’s all war stuff, too, isn’t it?” he faltered.

“No, no, that pretty well sums it up,” France told him, though he still seemed to wilt against his sofa.  “War is the opposite of peace, isn’t it? And all those things you mentioned, I have, more or less, but I’m still not…” He stared into the ceiling, his troubled countenance darkening the very air.

“Maybe you just need some more time to put everything behind you,” Canada timidly suggested.

“All I’ve had is time,” France sighed.  “I’ve had too much time, Matthew, and it never gets any easier.  Oh, what am I saying?” he huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Here you are, such a young thing, and I’m telling you it’s all downhill from here.  Don’t listen to me right now, Matthew! Don’t do it,” France urged him, a soft laugh of abashment escaping him. “Right now I’m stuck in a fog, and it’s harder to see all the things that would normally have me telling you that life ages like wine.  Forgive me. There’s plenty to love about living. You’ve just found me in a low place. And I want a cigarette,” he added as though that decided the whole matter.

Canada let some tension fall out of his shoulders and smiled.  “What, did you run out?”

“Can you blame me?” France replied in kind.  “They make me calm.”

“They make me cough,” Canada countered.

“You’re not doing it right, then.”

“I’m serious!” said Canada.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say those things must be bad for you somehow.”

“Nonsense,” said France.  “I get the kind with filters, anyway.  They’re doubly safe.” 

“Whatever you say, Francis,” Canada replied, looking sideways at him.  “More for you. Alfred, too. He picked those things up during the war, and I don’t think he can kick the habit, either.”

“I’m not sure he wants to,” France wryly suggested.

Canada hummed, appreciating the quiet lull in the conversation.  “How have things been with you?” he said after a while. “You’re not done with your vacation yet, are you?”

“I don’t suppose I am,” said France, shifting where he lay.  “I mean-- I meant to start it after the war ended, you understand,” he explained.  “And I have been making an effort to relax more. I’ve politely informed my leaders that I am, for all intents and purposes, deceased for the next six months while I recover.  That doesn’t stop them from dangling my duties in front of my nose every now and then, but mostly, they’ve let me rest in peace,” he chuckled. Canada laughed, too. “But then, I couldn’t help but to take on a project here or there with the rebuilding effort, and then I started to notice that my own living quarters needed a little attention, so I’ve redecorated, but that was more a work of pleasure than toil, I think.”

“I was going to say,” said Canada, “I thought things looked a little different in here.”

“It’s a good difference, I hope,” France lightly replied.  “On top of everything, though, I still have the unpleasant business of coordinating with Arthur about our-- our prisoners,” he said, spitting out the last word with a grimace.  I hate calling them that, but that’s what they are. If it were up to me, I would say the Italy brothers have done their time. We’d need to keep an eye on Germany, of course, but there’s no sense in all the extra monitoring we do.  If Arthur’s worried about another war,” France sighed, “he needs to start looking a little closer to home, I’m afraid.”

“I guess,” said Canada, frowning again.  “And then there’s all this stuff with Japan… Has China said anything to you about that?  I haven’t really heard from him since that meeting. Rumor has it-- well, I think a lot of people suspect that Al--”

“Not you too!” France gasped.  “You’re his brother!”

“I’m not saying I believe the rumors!” Canada replied, putting his hands up in defense.  “I’m just saying, he doesn’t have the most sparkling reputation, these days, and the way he’s acting isn’t really helping his case.”

France settled down, suspicious, but placated.  “You do have a point,” he said. “And I hate to say it, but I would be lying if I didn’t say I hadn’t thought about, just, what if?  What if Alfred has him? What if Arthur’s helping?”

“Do you think he would do that?” Canada asked, voice full of disbelief.

“If he thought it would restore his former glory, somehow,” France mused.  “But in any case, we all have enough to worry about without coming up with wild theories about what might have happened to Japan.”

“China doesn’t seem to see it that way,” said Canada.  “Neither does Russia.”

“China is desperate,” France sternly replied.  “He left off on bad terms with Japan, and now he’s thinking he’ll have to live with that guilt forever.  Russia just-- well, I think he’s sticking with the one ally he has. I pity them both, honestly.” He sniffed.  “Nations disappear from time to time. We’d all get along better if we’d just accept that.”

Canada watched him for a long moment.  “Do you want to talk about Prussia?”

“Absolutely not,” said France.  “Not today, at least. Just because we should accept these things doesn’t mean that I’ve done it, yet.  Now let’s talk about something else before I start to look at that brandy a little harder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't smoke, kids! Although I encourage you to look at vintage cigarette ads. Some of the selling points are wild.  
> Canada and France hadn't popped their heads in for a while, so I figured they would be perfect for a nice little bridge chapter like this one. Don't hesitate to let us know if you spot any consistency errors!  
> Thank you all for your patience with updates recently. Kai and I have both won college, and now we have degrees! Sadly, that means we are, for the time being, worlds apart, and are still figuring out what normal is. I'm going to say very hesitantly that updates should, in theory, be more frequent from now on.  
> Thank you all very much, and I hope all your debts get paid by kind celebrities,  
> Jay


	19. Moonlight Rendezvous

The pretending was almost as hard as actually being sick.  It was one thing to have a body so weak that he could hardly squirm away from Russia when he loomed over him with that ingratiating smile of his.  It was entirely different when all Japan had to rely on was his willpower to produce the same effect.

Every day, Lithuania visited him with his tea tray, and every day, he would dump the drugged tea back into the pot, just as he would hoist Japan into the wheelchair and prop him up in the washroom.  Playing into the lie made Japan’s pride sicker than his body had ever been, but when he had tried to move of his own accord, Lithuania had fixed him with a pointed glare and said, “Mr. Japan, you’re far too weak to be doing such things.”

It made Japan wonder, truly, if Lithuania had fallen victim to some sort of neurosis.  It was one thing that he had refused to drug him, but to play into the act, both in word and in deed, even when Russia was nowhere to be seen?  It felt like madness. Then again, he thought, Russia had a habit of lurking just out of sight. One could never truly know when one was being watched.

Yes, he supposed.  It really was madness.

Japan had resolved to endure it no longer.

“How are you feeling this evening, friend Japan?” Russia asked, perching himself on the edge of Japan’s lumpy mattress.

Japan took his time in responding, took great care to keep a waver in his voice, the glass over his eyes.  “I’m fine,” he stubbornly, limply replied.

The act seemed to have passed inspection.  Russia grinned all the wider. “Of course you are,” he said, reaching to give Japan’s shoulder a pat.

“Don’t--” Japan flinched violently away from the touch before he realized his mistake-- “Mr. Japan, you’re far too weak to be doing such things,” he heard echo in his mind-- and covered himself with the harshest coughing fit he could muster.  Japan kept forcing coughs out of himself until there were tears in his eyes, and when he finally stopped, he was well and truly exhausted.

“Goodness me,” Russia tutted, the first dredges of concern darkening his face.  “That’s not right. Has this been happening frequently?”

“No,” Japan croaked.  “No, just-- Just now. I think something… I think something caught,” he vaguely explained.

The answer smoothed Russia’s face, but only just.  “I see,” he said, rising. “We can’t have you catching pneumonia.  I’ll have to remind Lithuania that he’s meant to be turning you every now and again.”  He paused, eyes narrowing down at Japan. “That is, if you’ll let him.”

Japan stared at the wall until Russia left in a slow creak of boots out the door.  Then, he closed his eyes. It was the evening, or so he suspected. That left him several hours before he could enact his plan.

He whittled away the time by rehearsing once more the things he knew he had to do to escape.  First, he needed to escape his room. Russia had surely locked him inside, but Japan knew he could pick the lock.  He was a century or two out of practice, but he wasn’t about to let a single lock keep him from freedom.

After that, he would need to sneak to the first floor without being detected.  It should be a simple matter of locating the stairs and keeping his footsteps silent.  Again, Japan was skilled in stealth. Once he found the first floor, he intended to find a door, or even shatter a window if he had to.  The moment he got himself outside, he would be free.

From there, he hadn’t truly decided where he would go.  He couldn’t go home. He didn’t have a house left. Even if he did, they would know to look for him there.  If the other nations of the world had decided he was to be imprisoned with Russia, he doubted they would just let him walk free.  Besides that, he couldn’t go to his old allies, even if they weren’t similarly imprisoned. For all he knew, they would just as soon turn him away as turn him in themselves.

The idea of it made him ache. 

No matter, he thought.  He knew of dozens of remote villages in his land.  His people would never betray him. He could become a nomad, a legend, a wanderer in the hills, running away from this unjust justice until such a time came that he could return from his exile.

Perhaps, if he was very careful and very lucky, he could find out whether or not Pochi had been lost when his house had been destroyed.

He waited.

The mansion had long since begun to creak and groan in its settling in for the night by the time Japan swung his legs over the side of his bed.  Dizziness buzzed around in his skull as he did so, but he was patient to let it disperse itself before he continued. He couldn’t allow anything to stand in his way.  He had strength enough for this. 

When he felt ready, he pushed himself out of bed.  The floor protested almost as loudly as his knees when his bare feet hit the floor.  He listened. There were no footsteps, no signs whatsoever indicating that anybody had heard him, and so he took another step, and then another, until finally, he stood at the door.

He tried the knob, and, as he had expected it would, it refused him passage.  He bent low to inspect it. It was such an old lock, he marveled. That made it much simpler to pick.  An old bent nail would be all he would need, or perhaps--

He stopped.

With tentative fingers, he nudged the latch above the keyhole, and the door practically swung open on its own.

It had been locked from the inside.

Russia hadn’t been locking him inside.  He had been locking everyone else-- or, perhaps, someone in particular-- out.

It didn’t matter, Japan told himself.  He could ponder that mystery on his way out the door.

Darkness shrouded the halls.  Japan embraced it. The shadows would make it harder for anybody to notice him creeping along the wall, searching for any sign of the outside world.  Just one window was all he needed. If he decided the drop wouldn’t kill him, he would risk breaking a few bones if he could only escape.

He turned one corner, and then another, and then another.  Not a window in sight. He kept letting his rest-weakened legs carry him further, further into the depths of Russia’s home.  Along every hall, he kept his ears open, his eyes wide. He would not be caught.

A staircase greeted him at the end of one hall, and he had no choice but to turn back or follow it down.  Halfway down the staircase, he saw it: the moon, glittering like a pearl on the snow-bleached horizon.

As much as it pained him, he slowed his pace to compensate for the fact that he could no longer hear the sound of his own footsteps over the rush of blood in his ears.  Another wave of dizziness, and he clenched the railing. He didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the moon and kept pressing forward.

When he realized that he was truly on ground level, his heart pounded all the harder.  The window lacked a latch. If he wanted to escape through there, he would have to shatter the glass.  But that wasn’t the only barrier; sturdy steel bars blocked the window from the outside. If he wanted to escape through the window, he would have to find some way around the bars, too.

The front door was likely somewhere very close, but every second he spent searching for it, he risked being found.  He looked again to the window. There had to be some way. The moon and the stars cried out to him where they hung, fixed and immortal behind that glass, between those bars.  If only he could--

An arm snaked around his middle, and a hand cemented itself across his mouth the same moment.

Japan struggled violently until his captor hissed, “Relax!  It’s me!” Then, he went entirely still.

“Prussia?” he whispered as the hand fell away.

“Shh!” Prussia urged him, throwing a finger up to his pale lips.  Without another word, he tugged Japan as quickly and quietly as he could into the nearest room and  pulled the door shut behind them. The moonlight cascaded through steel bars, across dusty shelves lined with odd trinkets and figurines, and pooled itself in a neat square on the old, worn floor.  Somehow, though, it didn’t shine brighter than the smile Prussia had fixed on Japan.

“I finally found you,” he said, and then he pulled Japan in for a crushing hug.  “I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t listen when I tried to give you that lesson about tunnel vision, huh?” he laughed, patting Japan’s back for good measure.

For the first time in a long while, Japan smiled, too.  “God, I forgot about that,” he breathed, relieved. “It’s good to see a friendly face,” he admitted.  He allowed the hug to persist only a moment longer before he pulled away, but Prussia still kept a light hand on his arm.

“It’s so good to see you alive,” said Prussia, taking care to keep his voice low.  “You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” Japan asked.  “How long have I been here?”

Prussia released Japan’s arm and propped himself up against a table.  “I don’t know, exactly,” he replied. “I lost a few days when I died, and then recently, I…” His smile slipped, but he caught it a heartbeat later.  “My best guess is that it’s been a little over a month that you’ve been here. I think you got here after me, but the last time I saw you, you were dead.  That bastard has been trying to keep us separated ever since.”

Japan wasn’t smiling anymore.  “America bombed me,” he murmured.  “At least, that’s what Russia said, not that I trust him for an instant.  What happened to you? And why are you here?”

“My God, it really has been a long time,” Prussia sighed, shaking his head.  As he did so, Japan noticed several alarmingly dark bruises on his neck, but they were once again hidden by Prussia's shirt collar as he resumed speaking.  “After the war ended, they took me and West prisoner. England, America, and France are sharing him,” he said, scowling at his own words. “But my country was--” he faltered and puckered his face even further.  “It was dissolved. Prussia doesn’t exist anymore. They sent me here to die."

Japan stared, for the first time wondering if he might be having some drug-induced dream.  The moon seemed to shine through Prussia's skin, in that moment. “Then," Japan hesitantly asked, "how are you still alive?”

“I don’t know,” Prussia breathed.  “Russia says I’m East Germany, now.  I died Prussia, and woke up another nation.”  He shivered. “I don’t have anything else to believe, so I guess it’s true.”

“So,” Japan hesitantly started.  “You’re… East Germany, now?”

“Please just call me Gilbert instead,” Prussia sighed.  “Or stick with Prussia. I’m not really used to this yet.”

“Gilbert,” Japan repeated, blinking away his surprise.  “Is that your name?”

“Picked it out myself,” Prussia replied, his good humor returning in a shallow grin.  “I really did mean to give it to you sooner. You earned it.”

“Thank you,” said Japan before, hesitantly, he stuck out his hand.  “You may call me Kiku.”

“About time we introduced ourselves, huh?” Prussia laughed as he returned the offered handshake with gusto.

A bump from down the hall sent them both rigid.

They waited a minute, but no other noises came to them in that agonizing stretch of time except their own pounding hearts.  “I very much agree with you,” Japan cautiously whispered, “but why don’t we celebrate later, once we’re out of here? Look,” he muttered, peeling away to investigate the window.  “It-- Well, this one has bars, too, but if we could get to the front door--”

Prussia sighed.

“What’s the matter?” Japan asked, turning.  “There’s no reason we shouldn’t make a run for it right now!  They couldn’t take the both of us if we fought together!”

“Please keep your voice down,” Prussia wearily instructed him.  “Look, I’d love to, but I can’t.”

Japan gaped at him.  “Why not?” he demanded in an urgent whisper.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Prussia argued.  “And in case you didn’t know, neither do you. This is where everyone decided we had to be.”

“Anywhere is better than here!”  Japan took a ragged breath and whispered, “Do you know he’s been poisoning me?  Trying to keep me weak?” The last bit of color drained from Prussia’s face. “You have to know he’s mad.  We can't--”

They heard another creak.

Prussia grit his teeth and took a few steadying breaths.  “Japan--” He stopped. “Kiku, if you can find a way to get out of here, you absolutely should, but I can’t come with you.”

“And why not?” Japan hissed.  “You're madder than Russia if you think I'm leaving you here!”

A creak sounded closer than ever, and they both went completely still and quiet.

“Do you remember the way back to your room?” Prussia whispered, the seeds of fear taking root in his voice.

With a sickening jolt, Japan realized that he didn’t.

Prussia swore under his breath, and then breathed, “Someone’s coming.  Follow me, and don’t make a sound.”

Japan took one last, fleeting look at the moon before he turned his back on his only hope of freedom.

Together they fled from the source of the noise, whatever it was, each and every step a painstakingly slow draw of adrenaline from head to tip-toe.  Japan felt as though a year had passed before they crested the stairs, and a century more before anything felt familiar. “It’s around here,” Japan whispered, scrutinizing the different passageways through the dark.  “Just down this hall, I think.”

“Oh, thank God,” Prussia breathed.  “I had it narrowed down to either this hall or--”  He shut himself up with an abrupt, self-abashing shake of his head and gestured for Japan to lead the way.

Several long, silent seconds passed during which Japan fearfully wondered whether or not he had really recognized the hall, but then he spotted his door, which he had foolishly left open-- although he supposed it wasn’t as foolish when he considered that he hadn't expected to return.

“This room, okay,” Prussia whispered to himself once they had arrived.  “Okay, okay, I can remember this. East wing, second sector, second floor, fifth-- shit, no, sixth hall…”

“How big is this place?” Japan asked, horrified.

“Why do you think I needed to walk you back here?” Prussia quietly shot back.  “Listen, hang in there until I can get back to you. I think…” He bit his lip.  “I’ll tell you more the next time we talk, but I saw Feli and Lovi here just a couple of days ago.  If Russia would let them in, they might be able to help us. Look, I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Prussia whispered, throwing a glance down the dark hall.  “Don’t do anything hasty. I have to go. We never talked!”

With that, Prussia slipped into the shadows, quiet as a ghost.

“Be careful,” Japan whispered after him.  Then, he let loose a tense breath, pulled his door shut, locked it, and finally collapsed onto his bed.  It was then that he realized that he was trembling. All the adrenaline coursing through him had him just as shaky as his enfeebled limbs after all the excitement.

Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep.  His racing mind ensured that. Prussia was East Germany, and East Germany was there with him, a prisoner, a friend, an ally.  Not only that, but Italy and Romano had evidently been visiting recently, too. Japan wondered why they hadn’t visited, but he supposed that it was just as likely that Russia had forbidden it than that his old allies hadn’t wanted to see him in the first place.  After all, his last words to Italy had been far from kind.

When he finally did allow sleep to take him, it was with the bittersweet comfort in the knowledge that however he was to suffer in the coming days, he wouldn’t have to suffer alone any longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to anybody who caught the reference to something that happened 44 chapters ago! Things were so much simpler back then. If you're unclear about anything, don't hesitate to ask about it! And don't hesitate to bring continuity errors to our attention. As much love as has been put into this, it's become a beast of its own.  
> May you all be stalwart as boars,  
> Jay


	20. Love's Logic

The light of the waxing moon splashed down over Romano’s land and his garden, shone lightly on the delicate skins of his tomatoes-- although it had never struck him as odd that they should grow out of season.  The light came down in broken beams and cast dull shadows under the brims of the guards’ caps as they pretended not to doze outside the door. Inside Romano’s house, however, nobody had given sleep a second thought.

The brothers sat hunched around their recording devices and cups of coffee, rewinding and playing the audio over and over until they had worn out the words.

“There’s nothing America would find suspicious about this,” Romano quietly mused.  “We don’t have a reason to keep it from him.”

“As far as he knows, we only think we’re testing audio equipment, anyway,” Italy replied, his brows likewise knit.  He poked at the brass button again.

_ “Russia, there you are!  I-- Romano? Italy? What the hell--” _

_ “Oh my God. You’re still alive?” _

_ “He’s not even dying! Look at him, he’s--” _

_ “He’s very busy.  And he doesn’t have time to chat.  China! Please see them to the door.” _

_ “You said he was nearly dead!”  _

_ “He’ll be dead soon, I assure you!  You three!” _

Italy pressed the button again.  “There’s no reason we should hide this,” he said.  “Why do I feel like we need to hide this from America?”

“Because we don’t trust him?” Romano guessed.  “We still don’t know that he doesn’t have Japan, but this…” He puffed out his cheeks and let out a weary stream of air.  “We could just say it broke and didn’t record.”

“No, no, that won’t work,” said Italy, running a hand through his hair, thoroughly mussing it.  “We need to work with him if we want this stupid curfew lifted any time soon.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Romano sighed.  “There’s nothing in there that would tip him off to us spying on him for Russia and China.  We’ve listened a hundred times. It’s all clean, right?”

Italy hummed in dissatisfaction and toyed with the wires.

“I’ll pack it up and drop it off at America’s place tomorrow, then,” Romano decided.  “There’s no reason for us both to waste a day traveling.”

An owl hooted outside.  “No,” Italy abruptly stated.  “I’ll take it to him.”

Romano passed him a skeptical frown and asked, “Why?”

“No reason, really, just...”  A bashful smile tugged at the corner of Italy’s lips as he continued.  “You’ve been doing a lot for us lately, you know? All my paperwork, the meetings, and your stuff, too… Ever since the war ended, you’ve been picking up my slack.”

“Damn right I have,” Romano muttered, reddening.

“Yeah,” Italy laughed.  “So I want to do this one thing for you.  Take it easy tomorrow, okay?”

“About time you started lifting your own damned weight,” Romano scoffed, although the pleasure in his face couldn’t hide itself well enough behind his scowl to fool Italy.

“Great, well,” Italy yawned as he swiped the devices into his arms.  “I’m off to bed. Goodnight, Lovi!”

Romano grumbled and waved his brother to the door, but just before Italy summoned a guard to let him out, he mumbled, “Night, Feli.”

In spite of the perturbed scowl the guard wore as he led Italy back to his own house, Italy couldn’t drop his grin the rest of the night.

The next morning, he rose with the sun and headed west-- although there was one place he needed to stop, first.

***

Germany stared at his bedroom ceiling and absently allowed dawn to do the work of lightening the room.  Another day, another blueprint to revise. Another hundred mindless push-ups to keep up his strength, another meager, unsatisfying meal, another chapter in another book he didn’t even truly feel like reading.  The sun had hardly breached the sky, and already he had grown weary of the day.

There was no point in getting up.  The blueprints could wait. There was no reason he needed to shave, or bathe, or even dress himself properly.  Nobody he cared to impress would be by to visit him. He hadn’t heard a word from Italy since they had last met, not even a whisper.  Germany couldn’t help but wonder if their last encounter had been the breaking point for their friendship; not war, not fighting, not even betrayal, but a kiss.  Germany couldn’t figure out why he had let himself lean so close. Then, he remembered warm eyes and freckled skin, and while he didn’t have to wonder any longer, he still couldn’t manage to forgive himself for having noticed such things in the first place.  Besides all that, it was entirely possible that Italy had only been going for his cheek like usual, and in his lonesome fervor, Germany’s interpretation of the whole situation had become horribly mangled.

There wasn’t any point at all in getting out of bed when his only friend in the world thought he was some kind of pervert. 

A stab of guilt shot through him when he thought of his dogs, his brother’s bird, all wondering where their breakfast was.  They needed him, and here he lay, selfishly wallowing in his loneliness and misery and doubt.

He shoved himself out of bed.  The groaning of the floorboards and his bed frame echoed in his soul.  Nevertheless, he forced himself into a clean set of clothes and out into the hall, and then he trudged off to feed his sleepy animals.

He had just emptied a cup of seeds into the bird’s cage when a loud crack from outside his office window sent his heart shooting up into his throat and the bird flapping his wings in fright.  Germany pressed himself flat against the wall beside the window. No matter how he craned his neck, he couldn’t see behind the curtains without disturbing them. There was another pop outside, and then a crack, and then something that sounded like a swear word.

Germany recognized the voice instantly, and it was for that reason he hesitated before yanking back the curtains.

Just outside the window stood Italy in the long dawn-shadow of the house, a pack on his back, a hammer in his hand, and a grimace on his face.  Germany couldn’t guess why Italy might wear such an expression until he followed his gaze to the hammer. Between the teeth of its head was a nail, and speared by the nail was a rather large chunk of Germany’s window pane.

“How?” Germany asked, incredulous.  Italy turned his grimace to him, at which point Germany changed his tune to, “Hurry!”

“Oh!” came Italy’s muted reply.  He wiggled the end of the hammer until the splinter of Germany’s window fell loose, nail and all.  Then, in a desperate rush, he pried the remaining nails from the window and shoved it open. Italy pushed himself inside with such fervor that Germany hardly had an opportunity to help him inside, although he lacked the wherewithal anyway.

Italy all but slammed the window shut.  “Ludwig!” he cried, taking Germany by the hands and, at the same moment, surprise.  “There’s something I gotta show you!”

“What?” Germany asked, although at the moment the question was more of a general sentiment than a direct inquiry.  When his wits caught up to him a furious heartbeat later, however, he hissed out a startled, “Shush! You’re making a racket!”

”Sorry!” Italy hoarsely apologized.  “And about the window pane! It just popped right up!  You don’t think anybody’s going to notice, do you?”

“What the hell are you even doing here?” Germany demanded, his anxiety and bewilderment manifesting themselves as alarm.  About that time, the dogs wandered in, all wondering the same thing, except without quite so much alarm attached.

“It’s really important!” Italy assured him with an energetic bounce of their hands.  “Listen, I went by America’s with Lovi because that’s where China said we should go so we could snoop, and then America told us to go spy on Russia, and we did, and so I guess that makes us double agents or something?  But we still don’t know where Japan is, so there’s nothing else we can really do with this whole situation except play along, you know? Anyway, where was I? Oh! So America was being kind of a dick to us when we stopped by, but we convinced him to--“

“Feliciano,” Germany stoutly interjected.  “The point?”

Italy stopped, then, and hiccuped up a bubble of joy.  “Lud,” he whispered, squeezing Germany’s hands. “Your brother’s alive!”

A clock ticked in the next room.  “Still?” Germany asked.

“No, you don’t get it!” Italy delightedly informed him.  “He isn’t going to die at all!”

Germany stared.  “What?” he whispered into the spinning world.

In response, Italy slipped his hands free and wrestled the recording device from his bag.  The sheer excitement rolling off him made up for his silence as he set the tangled mess down on Germany’s desk and pressed play.

_ “Russia, there you are!  I-- Romano? Italy? What the hell--” _

The following commotion was lost under the rush of blood in Germany’s ears.  Numbly, he listened until the recording clicked off, and there was a long stretch of silence before he weakly managed, “Play it again.”  Italy obliged. There was Prussia’s voice, clearer and stronger than Germany had heard it since before the war. “Again?” Italy rolled back the tape as quickly as he could manage, but it seemed to Germany that Prussia’s voice was gone just as quickly as it had sounded.  “Sorry, just--“ Italy played it again, and then once more without prompting. Germany at last forced himself to listen to the voices that weren’t his brother’s.

_ “You said he was nearly dead!”  _

_ “He’ll be dead soon, I assure you!  You three!” _

Within the whirlwind in Germany’s mind, Germany hardly registered that he had collapsed into his chair, his face stuck in a queer contortion of equal parts pain and wonder.

“Ludwig?” Italy delicately asked.  “Do you want me to play it again?”

Germany stared at the device.  When Italy’s voice registered for him, he muttered, “How can you be sure?”

Italy’s smile fell away in his confusion.  “What’s that now?”

“How can you be sure he isn’t going to die?” Germany asked, searching Italy’s face for more answers than it could hold.  “You said he… But Russia just said-- and he-- Italy, he doesn’t have a people anymore. He can’t be alive.”

Haltingly, Italy replied, “But he was, Lud.  He was alive. I saw him. You heard him. He looked almost healthy, you know, and China--“

“Almost?” Germany demanded.  “Almost healthy?”

Italy gripped a nervous hand around the edge of the desk where he was perched.  “I didn’t get a great look at him, but he was giving Russia a real fight by the looks of--“

“Stop!” Germany shouted.  “I can’t-- He’s supposed to be dead,” he said, forcing his voice down and a hand through his hair.  “I’ve done my grieving. I knew he was dead or about to die, and I was dealing with that,” he struggled to explain.  “And now you run in here with nothing more than-- than this, and ‘almost healthy’ and the promise that-- How am I supposed to…”  He shook his head, and a stray tear dislodged itself from the corner of his eye. “How, Feliciano? What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I… I don’t know,” Italy answered, taken aback by his own unworthy answer.  “I… Listen,” he tried, pushing out his words before a fresh wave of guilt could glue his mouth shut.  “China told us that Russia’s been lying to him about how sick Prussia’s been. He could be hiding other stuff, too!  Prussia’s cough is gone, right? If anything, he’s healthier than he’s been in decades,” he reminded him. Germany’s blank stare did not encourage him, but he continued nonetheless.  “And I think he’s been fighting back. Russia had a big black eye when we saw him. I was thinking maybe Japan gave it to him-- you know, cats and their claws, like you said-- but maybe it was Prussia sticking up for himself.  I just don’t think he’s dying, Lud,” Italy gently finished. “I really don’t.”

Germany swallowed.  “You can’t know that,” he said, too hurt to trust in this strange dream, though he wanted to.  Another tear rolled down his cheek. “I can’t lose him again,” he breathed.

Italy took his time choosing his next words.  “I know it hurts when someone you love goes away,” he said, breaking the silence as gently as he could.  “And I know it hurts even more when you don’t know if they’re ever coming back. It’s-- It’s torture,” he said.  “And I’m sorry. I really, really am,” he went on, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I swear to you, Ludwig, I’m going to keep looking until I find out what’s really happening to our friends.  I have to.” 

At Italy’s words, Germany pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and wiped away his distress.  “Alright,” he sighed. “Alright, I believe you. You don’t have to do this, though.”

Italy withdrew from the very notion.  “Of course I have to!”

“You don’t,” Germany insisted, looking up to Italy with a crooked, fragile smile.  “You only feel like you do. If everyone felt that way, like they needed to help each other, even when they don’t deserve it…” He huffed out a laugh.  “Nobody forces you to be kind, but you do it anyway. Over and over, and you don’t even realize you don’t have to be kind.”

“I’m not being nice,” Italy argued, crossing his arms.  “And I can be mean if I want to, thank you very much!” Germany couldn’t help a wry smile at that.  “It’s just…” Italy sighed, leaning back on Germany’s desk. “It’s what you do when you’re being human.”

“...Is it?”  Germany slouched in his chair and watched his brother’s bird flutter in its cage.  “You should tell the people standing guard outside. I’m not sure they know.”

Italy slid off the desk, then, and the dogs happily nosed at his knees.  “Oh, Lud,” he sighed, patting down at the dogs. “I wish I could stay here awhile and cheer you up.  I’d take a hard view of humans too if the only ones I ever got to see were the rude ones trying to keep me lonely and depressed.”

With the dogs to distract them both, Germany took his time in speaking again.  “Feliciano,” he said. “About the other day…”

Italy whipped his head around to catch his gaze, eyes wide.

“I hope I didn’t…”  Heat rose to Germany’s face as he floundered for the right word, although he doubted that right words existed for situations such as these.  “I hope I didn’t offend you,” he sheepishly decided. “You’re right, I am lonely, but that was no reason to go and-- You know--”

A bright laugh cut Germany off.  He frowned, suddenly finding himself offended.

“What?” Germany demanded.

“It’s funny that you think you started it,” Italy laughed.  “I thought I was the one who kissed you!”

Germany blinked at him.  “So you weren’t just-- Just going for my cheek, or something?” he asked.  “I didn’t misunderstand?”

Italy burbled out another laugh and said, “You really thought that?”  Germany’s red face was all the answer he needed. “Ludwig,” Italy cooed.  “It wasn’t an accident. And don’t worry about misunderstanding, because, well,” he said, scratching at his head.  “I’m not sure I fully understand, either, if I”m being totally honest. I mean, how I feel about-- About all that. About us.”

“Ah,” said Germany, nodding slowly.  “I believe I feel the same.”

“Right,” Italy agreed.  “It’s-- You know, it’s only natural, after everything we’ve… After everything that’s happened.”

A few seconds passed during which the two of them stared at anything except each other, and then Germany cleared his throat and suggested, “The logical thing would be to try it again.”

The loudest laugh yet ripped out of Italy.  “Do you think so?”

“I don’t know,” Germany rapidly replied.  “I don’t think my brain was working well enough the first time around to notice how I was feeling about the whole... situation.”

“Well you’re not supposed to be thinking when you kiss people, anyway,” Italy teased him.  As he spoke, he wandered over to take Germany’s hands. “You’re just supposed to kind of feel these things out.”

Vaguely, Germany wondered if proximity to Italy had always made his blood sing.  “It’s not like we’ve had much time for that,” he said, voice weak.

“Then let’s make time,” said Italy, giving Germany’s hands an encouraging squeeze.  “I have to take these recordings to America today, but he’s supposed to give me a copy,” he explained.  “I’ll bring you the copy, alright? Maybe even today,” he said. “I’ll be back soon. It’ll give us both a little time to, you know,” he laughed.  “Reconsider that kiss now that we’re sure we’re both still on friendly terms?”

Germany huffed out a laugh and said, “Yes, that sounds nice.”  Carefully, he stood from his chair and walked Italy to the window, hand in hand.  “You’ve been here far too long,” he said, searching Italy’s eyes for any sign of the bittersweet longing he felt fluttering inside himself.  “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“Of course,” said Italy, offering him a smile.  “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Germany nodded, and then, cheeks pink, pressed a kiss to Italy’s forehead.  “Don’t forget to put the nails back when you leave,” he murmured.

Softly, Italy giggled.  “Whatever you say, Captain,” he replied.  With that, he stepped away from Germany, gathered his things, and gave all the dogs one last pat before he pecked Germany on the cheek and slipped out the window.

Germany watched from inside while Italy tried to replace all the nails and wood he had uprooted, but hardly anything went back in as neatly as it had come out.  As Italy struggled for a quiet eternity with the irreparably bent nails, images of guards rounding the corner of his house and spotting Italy flashed through his mind harsher and starker until Germany at last waved for Italy to leave.  Italy gestured helplessly at the pitiful window pane. Germany shook his head, to which Italy grimaced, gave his surroundings a quick scan, and then mouthed, “I’ll be back!”

To Germany’s great relief and regret, Italy at last turned towards the western shadows and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Update: THERE'S ART! Thank you again, rinle!! >>> https://imgur.com/a/yLg5TOn ]  
> Have some agonizing fluff in exchange for the wait. I think you'll all be glad to hear that there's officially A Whole Outline for the rest of this story. I may or may not have brought up to Kai the idea of a three-quel. There's just a lot of story to be told here, folks, but I'll keep you posted when it's a better time.  
> Thank you all for your patience, and, as always, never hesitate to let us know what you think!  
> You're all delightful,  
> Jay


	21. Mistakes

The rising sun skipped brilliantly across the waves, pressed against Italy’s back, blanketed his face in a gentle shadow.  Italy, however, could neither appreciate the sun nor the ocean from beneath his own swimming thoughts, which kept floating backwards, eastwards.

Things were horrible, he reminded himself.  Japan was still missing, he and his brother and Germany were still firmly under the thumb of other nations, Prussia was still in Russia’s cold hands-- things were genuinely awful.

Prussia was alive, though.  Rather, Gilbert had lived, even if Prussia was no more.  Ludwig had likewise survived, and he knew in his gut that if he just kept looking, he would find Kiku somewhere, too.  Lovino had lived. Even Feliciano, Italy realized with a hiccup of joy, had survived the war. Not unchanged, he reasoned, but intact.  That was what mattered.

Things were terrible, but Italy knew that if he kept searching, kept waiting, kept hoping, they were going to get better.  He was going to bring his friends home. Their punishments would be lifted, sooner or later. He and Ludwig were going to figure themselves out, together.  It was only a matter of time before they could put all this mess behind them and start being people again-- Or, Italy thought, perhaps for the first time.

The sun maintained its watchful post at Italy’s back until Italy found himself in front of one of America’s houses.  He double checked the number painted on the mailbox against the address he had been given over a rushed, vague phone call.  They matched. Between that and the blood red car glinting under the morning sun, Italy figured he had found the right door. 

By the second rap of Italy’s fist on the door, America wrenched open the door, wide, jagged eyes piercing Italy there on his stoop.  Then, with a frantic scan of his surroundings, he yanked Italy inside.

“What did you find?”

“Uh,” said Italy, stunned by his sudden transport.  “The device works?”

“Well of course it--” America blinked in perturbed unrecognition before, all at once, his discontent smothered itself with a pacifying show of pearls.  “Of course it worked,” he continued. He wormed an arm around Italy’s shoulders and ushered him into the sitting room. “I couldn’t have asked for a better engineer, or a finer tester.”

Italy jammed his stiff arms into his pockets.  “Right,” he said.

“Fine piece of work, that device,” America went on.  “You should’ve seen the blueprints. Complicated, cutting-edge stuff.  Still, I gotta have my people look over the tapes. You understand.” He stopped.  “You do have the tapes and everything, don’t you? You brought them with you?”

“What kind of tester would I be if I didn’t?” Italy laughed, pouring himself with no small amount of effort into his role.  “It’s all in the bag. The cold at Russia’s house didn’t seem to bother the equipment at all.”

America stopped himself short of ripping the bag from Italy’s shoulders in time to ask, “May I?”

Italy shrugged off the pack himself and passed it to him with a gracious, “Be my guest,” saving him the trouble.

“Oh, fantastic,” said America, spilling his grin into the bag.  “Do you care if we--?”

“Please.” 

Sparing no enthusiasm, America set the device up on his coffee table and listened intently to the recording.  Italy’s tinny voice rattled to life, asking about Japan. In spite of how thoroughly Italy had rehashed the audio clip to make sure it wouldn’t betray him to America, his heart still pounded with each turn of the conversation.

America, Italy gratefully observed, seemed to be too hung on Russia’s every syllable to notice his tension.

_ In spite of America’s cruelty and the great toll of the war, his land and people are still in one piece. _

America’s face twisted around his forced grin.

_ Keep searching.  I’m sure you’ll find him soon. _

“What does he know?” America muttered, drowning the recording under his acid words.  “Cruelty, huh? That red bastard would know about cruelty, wouldn’t he? He wants to call me cruel?  Me? I bet he thinks that just because he’s--”

Italy coughed and said, “You might want to hear this next bit.”

America clamped his teeth shut just in time to bear witness to Prussia’s voice floating through the speakers.  He remained silent through the ensuing commotion, his face an unreadable facsimile of composure propped up with a smile.

“Well,” said when the recording clicked off.  “Isn’t that just swell?”

With one hand clenched around the cross in his pocket, Italy forced on a similar grin and replied, “Isn’t the audio quality great?”

“Sure is,” America agreed.  “And Prussia’s still… That’s just swell.”  With slow, deliberate movements, he reached into his coat, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with the flick of a lighter.  He took a drag. “How can I repay you for the favor, Italy?” he asked, finally meeting his guest’s eyes. “You and your brother, he can have something, too.  Lay something out there.” 

“Oh, thank you,” said Italy, his laugh as tense as his shoulders.  “Um,” he said. “You know, I bet my brother would agree to this, if it’s for both of us, but maybe--” He licked his lips-- “Maybe you could let up on the curfew?  Let us stay out late again, you know,” he squeezed out another laugh. “I kinda miss the nightlife.”

“Oh, is that all?” said America.  The cheer in his voice felt almost natural, now.  “Consider it done. But still,” he added, fixing Italy with a sharp stare.  “We can’t have you hanging out with the wrong people.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Italy weakly assured him.

“And why would you?” said America, the corners of his lips curling even higher.  “Your old pals are the ones that dragged you into this, aren’t they? But you already knew that.”  With an air of ease, America patted Italy’s shoulder and pushed himself out of his chair. Italy moved to follow him, but America stopped with, “Oh, no, don’t get up.  I still have to run you those copies I promised you, remember? It shouldn’t take more than an hour. Now that you don’t have that curfew, you have all the time in the world!”  The enthusiasm fell from his voice as he added, “Bet that feels nice. Anyway, make yourself at home. Put on a record. Oh! You can try out my new television, if you want!” He gestured with some genuine pride towards a polished wooden cabinet with a circular screen on the front.  “It gets six whole channels!”

“Six, huh?” Italy politely marvelled, although he couldn’t deny his own interest.  “That’s something else.”

“Yeah!” said America, shoving the tapes into his pockets.  “Anyway, I’ll be right back, so don’t go anywhere.”

Italy flashed him a halfhearted grin that dissipated the moment America slipped out of the room.  For a brief minute, he contemplated wandering America’s halls in search of Japan or any sign of him, but then he considered how America might react to finding him out of place.

The television, Italy soon found, made a wonderful distraction.

A program immediately mesmerized Italy, but before it had even finished, America swept back in, laughing, “Right where I left you.  Sucks you in, doesn’t it?” Italy opened his mouth to agree, but America went on, “I wasted a whole afternoon watching those programs when I first got the thing.  My boss wasn’t very happy with me about that, but,” he shrugged. “You know how it is.”

Italy didn’t, so he clicked off the television and replied, “I think I’d like one of these in my house someday.  Seems kind of fun.”

“Yeah, it is.  I just wish I had the time to…” America crushed the end of his sentence between his blindingly white teeth.  “Anyway, I got you your recordings,” he said, slipping the tapes into Italy’s bag with the rest of the equipment.  “Keep the devices, too.”

“Oh, really?” Italy asked, hesitantly taking back his bag.  “Are you sure?”

“Definitely!” America replied.  “Consider it a gift. Something to help you look for Japan.”

Italy had to take a moment to get past his surprise before he could manage, “Oh, thanks so much!  I’m sure it’ll be useful, somehow!”

“Me too.  Me too. Just,” said America, putting his arm around Italy’s shoulders again.  “If you happen to go back to Russia’s place, could you give it another whirl for me?  I might need some more of those cold weather samples. Trial and error, that sort of thing,” he said.  “You get it.”

“Oh, of course,” said Italy, figuring he had just discovered exactly how dumb America thought him.  “I get it.”

“You’re stellar,” America sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze as they meandered towards the door.  “One more thing, though. Try to keep that equipment and those tapes to yourself. Don’t want anyone stealing the idea,” he explained.  Then, he laughed. “Or the information. Imagine if Germany found out that his brother was still kicking after all this.” He shook his head in amusement, and Italy’s stomach lurched.  “He might get the idea that his actions don’t have consequences, or something. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He winked. “Let’s let him stew for a while, really think on what he’s done.  For all he deserves, we’ve really let him off easy.”

Italy gripped the cross in his pocket so tightly it hurt.  “Just, you know, out of curiosity,” he couldn’t help but suggest, although he managed to retain a light, level tone.  “What about Japan? Do you think he deserves whatever’s happened to him, too?”

America’s smile slipped for half a second before he answered.  “Yes, but it’s-- Maybe not all of it. Maybe some of it, but that’s-- that’s getting the cart before the horse,” he said.  “We don’t really know what’s even happened to him, yet, now do we? Sure, Japan played his part, but Germany’s the real monster here,” he said.  Still, he smiled. “He’s the one who dragged you and Japan into this. Why, the rest of the world was getting along just fine until he and his folks messed things up.”  America clicked his tongue. “Some people… Well, I just reckon some people really need to be taught how to play nice with others.”

A mere beat of silence passed before Italy blurted, “Well, thanks for your help, America!”  He whipped America’s hand off his shoulder and shook it in a stranglehold. “It’s been so good of you to help.  Really, you’ve just been so, so helpful,” he oozed through trap-tight teeth. “I’ll be in touch with you soon, probably, in case I need more help!”

“Always a pleasure, Italy,” America cheerfully replied, opening his door wide.  Then, with a wink, he added, “And make sure to keep your brother out of trouble tonight!  I don’t want to regret letting up on that curfew of yours.”

Bile threatened to overtake Italy’s tongue, so all he did was hurl a wave over his shoulder as he walked away.  He had seldom been more grateful to have been swallowed by a nations’ path when he finally dissolved into the morning mist.

“God,” he forced out in a gust of angry breath.  He pounded the earth beneath his feet. “God!” he shouted into the heavens.  While he didn’t doubt that he had been heard, he was beginning to question whether he would ever be listened to.  Regardless, he wanted to make his point perfectly clear, and so he roared a long, vindicated agony into the sky.

Afterwards, he panted and tread more lightly.  The ocean sighed at his feet. With more feeling than thought, Italy faced the sun and breathed out a different name.

“Oh, Holy Rome,” he said, doubting whether he had been heard, but certain that he would be listened to.  “Some people--” he cut himself off with a bitter laugh. “Some people are hypocrites.”

He was content to plod along in his sanctimonious silence until, by traveling back the way he had come, he somehow caught back up with a wisp of the optimism he had found there in the first place.

“Things really aren’t that bad,” he said.  “I mean, they’re going to get better. It’s not the end of the world if America’s being a heel.”  He kicked a pebble into the sea. “And Russia’s being weird.” He sniffled. “And England’s being a dick, and Francis doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, and I have to keep lying to people about what I’m doing, and Lud and Kiku and Gilbert all need my help, and, God!” he huffed again, momentarily forgetting who he was speaking to.  “Has anything changed at all?”

The sun burned as it always had.

“No, no,” Italy relented.  “I’m just being dumb again.  Things suck. But they’ll… They really will get better.”  He breathed out. “Won’t they?” 

He received no response, but by the time he materialized in Germany’s back garden, the sun was high in the sky, and he had once again convinced his gut that everything would turn out alright in the end.

He spotted no guards, and so, gathering his wits, he made for Germany’s office window.  Splinters were nearly all that remained of the windowsill, and so it took him no time at all to pluck out the nails and slip inside.

The office was empty, save for the silence that filled it.  Prussia’s bird rustled restlessly in his cage, and a blueprint yawned on the desk.  Italy recognized it at a glance as the very same device he held in his bag.

Floorboards creaked down the hall.

“Ludwig?” Italy asked the noise.  He wondered why he didn’t hear dogs racing towards him, as they had so often done in the past.  “Lud? I’m back.”

With no response, he was left with no choice but to follow the sound.  His uncertainty mounted with every step. There was another creak, and then a shuffle.  Italy continued down the hall.

“Ludwig, where--”

The moment Italy stepped into Germany’s sitting room, his heart stopped.

Germany sat hunched on his couch, his hands clenched in his hair, every line of him pulled taut.  Hovering over him were England and his gun, ensuring his silence.

“Oh, look,  _ Ludwig _ ,” England cheerfully announced.  “He’s back.” 

Italy felt as though he might turn to dust on the spot.

“So, how many visits does this make?” England asked, tapping the air with the end of his gun.  “Came in through the window, did we?” Italy stammered out a few syllables, but England pressed on.  “The boys outside told me-- What was it? Signs of tampering on a window out back? Seems like they were onto something.  Germany here had almost convinced me it might have been a burglar,” he said, marveling at the whole situation. “But instead, who drops by but the most traitorous nation of them all?”  He shook his head at his captives and clicked his tongue. “You’re in big trouble, boys.” 

Pale and pained, Germany met Italy’s eyes and barked, “Just run!”

“Take one step,” England immediately threatened, “and your dear big brother won’t see the light of day for a decade.”

Every atom in Italy’s body quaked with the force of his fear and rage colliding.  “What good does any of this do you?” he hissed. “Stepping on all of us, keeping us down-- Keeping us apart!”

“We did you a favor!” England shot back.  “Have you already forgotten how France and I pulled you out of this house, rescued you from him?” he said, gesturing at Germany with his gun.  “Did you forget? Or are you just a masochist?” England scoffed at Italy’s silence. “But of course, above everything you’re a traitorous fool, even to yourself.  Hand over the bag. Let’s see what you’ve brought him.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Germany sneered as England snatched away Italy’s bag.  “It’s not enough for you to win. You’re not happy just being a victor. You have to be a conqueror, too.”

“Actions have consequences,” England droned before he rifled through Italy’s bag.  “Just as I thought,” he tutted as he unrooted the mess of wires. “Colluding with your old ally, no doubt plotting something against us.”

“You’re delusional,” Germany ground out.

“You’ve been piping all the information you’ve collected for America back to Germany, haven’t you?”  England demanded. “Admit it.”

“Information?” Italy repeated with a mirthless laugh.  “I only thought I was testing sound equipment.”

England impatiently plowed on, saying, “There’s no telling who else you’ve ratted to, but I don’t suppose it’s too late to find out.  Guards!”

No doubt already roused by the ruckus and starving for action, four armed guards burst inside, training their guns on Italy and Germany both.

“Shakedown, boys,” England calmly explained.  “I’ll handle our guest. Take Captain Beilschmidt downstairs and throw him in with the dogs.”

The guards converged on Germany at the same time that England took hold of Italy’s arm, and in the same instant, they began pulling them in opposite directions.

Instinctively, Italy and Germany sought each other’s eyes a final time, a fear-drenched apology met with stalwart, unabashed determination.

Not a moment later were they dragged away, each to their own prison.

An eternity later, England released Germany and his muzzled dogs from their cell to begrudgingly inform him that neither he nor his men had found any contraband in his house.  Then, sparing Germany no amount of scorn, he left him, once again, alone.

The wreckage of his home seemed, at first, insurmountable.  In every room, furniture lay overturned. Boot tracks dirtied the floors.  The art had been plucked from the walls, most of it carelessly cracked or sullied.  His meager food had been spilled and scattered on the floor. Every drawer had been pulled out, every book flung heedlessly from its shelf, every box emptied of valuables-- many priceless, several stolen from him.  So overtaken was he by the scale of the carnage that he took several long minutes to notice that each of his windows had been boarded up from the outside.

As he cleaned, he mourned, mourned for himself, his stolen belongings, his ruined paintings, mourned for Italy-- for Feliciano, and for Ludwig, the fledgling vestige of humanity he hadn’t realized he had wanted, but had no less been denied.

The full moon was pouring itself through the boards over his windows by the time he finished righting the mess in his home, although he had by no means run out of sorrows.  In cleaning, however, he found a burning determination which he had lost sometime before, and he vowed never to lose it again. 


	22. Ivan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory for alcohol, starvation, and implications of violence. Tread lightly!

Russia awoke, finding himself in that hazy, honeyed moment when he beheld the glow of the sun without yet remembering that he would not feel its warmth.  He would gladly live and die in that moment, if he were able.

It was with that drop of longing that a briny wave of hunger and ache crashed over his body, and he remembered.

His people needed him.

He rose, and his heart wobbled freely inside his ribcage.  He hoped it wouldn’t fall out. That never made for a pleasant morning.  Neither did looking in the mirror, but this he did now, just as he did every morning.

Russia combed out his sleep-mussed hair.  He rubbed his eyes clear. Reaching for his neck with drowsy fingers, he pried off yesterday’s bandages and threw them in the dumbwaiter where his bedclothes would soon likewise fall.  He grazed the circle of scars above his shoulders, bumpy, white, painless when touched, though not when seen. Russia drew out a fresh bandage and covered them up again. They still hurt, after all.

He examined his more recent wounds, which were not painless to the touch.  They were fading. The memory wouldn’t. Russia would always remember how the humans cared for him.  He failed them so frequently, and yet they still loved him enough to correct his mistakes.

Russia’s reflection smiled at him.  It almost always smiled at him.

Russia withdrew from the mirror and dressed himself.  It wouldn’t do to present himself to his friends in his bedclothes.  Even if he wouldn’t get to see his leaders today, he still needed to look presentable.  There were so many people in his house, after all. His smile came a little easier at the thought.

It was time to greet his friends.

Stepping to the wall, he pulled a string, and the soft tinkle of pulley-troubled bells soon echoed down the hall, all the way to the servants’ quarters where his friends were surely beginning their eager race to greet him.  He had designed that bell and pulley system just as he had designed all the halls and rooms in this, his favorite wing: so that he and his friends should never be apart long. It was a source of great pride for him.

As he shuffled into his study across the hall, he considered how fortunate it was that he was always being told to renovate.  His caretakers were always so very generous with their allocations of building supplies, and Russia was even allowed to make suggestions and designs for what might be done to his house.

Sometimes, they even listened to him.

Except, when he mentioned the crumbling parts of his sprawling home, they told him that renovation would be a waste.  Expansion was what mattered. It would be useless to throw materials into old rooms when perfectly good new rooms could be built.  Russia supposed that made sense, even if he didn’t quite understand how another new dining room helped him very much when his most useful kitchen had developed a hole to the cellar.  His leaders had promised to make him great, he reasoned. It wasn’t his job to understand their methods. It was his job to serve his people.

And what great friends he had to help him do it, he thought to himself as Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia filed into the study.

“Good morning Mr. Russia,” they greeted him, although their tone concerned him.

Perhaps they weren’t happy.

“You all sound so glum,” Russia pointed out, demonstrating a smile.

“Good morning Mr. Russia!” they declared, showing him their teeth.

Russia clapped his hands together and grinned all the broader.  “There we are,” he said. “Ready to take on the world. We’re having a guest today,” he cheerfully explained.  “So, rather than your usual tasks, I want you all to focus on making Mr. China feel welcome when he gets here. Are we clear?”

“Yes Mr. Russia,” they all replied, except for Estonia, who cleared his throat and added a hesitant, “Does this mean there’s food to be made?”

“Ah,” said Russia as guilt began to clobber his starving gut.  “Yes, there is food today. It should be in a box by the door.”  Hunger shone in his servants’ eyes. He suppressed a sigh. “Prepare everything in the box.  Let Mr. China take all he wants, and then split the leftovers… Let’s see…” He counted up all the mouths to feed: Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, and then Japan, and East Germany, too.  And then, of course, the millions of his own hungry people who would never see so much as a crumb’s worth of any food that he selfishly, pointlessly took for himself.

Russia didn’t need to eat.

“Split the leftovers five ways,” he decided with a firm nod.  “Make sure East Germany and Mr. Japan get their shares.” 

“Er, Mr. Russia?” Lithuania asked.  Russia raised his eyebrows at him. “Are we still to see to Mr. Japan this morning, or should we just--”

“Oh, no,” Russia quickly assured him.  “I’ll take care of him. You must focus on making sure Mr. China is exceedingly pleased with his visit.  I’m afraid he left in an… unpleasant mood, last time.”

He hardly noticed his smile slip until his friends rushed to prop it back up again with certain reassurances.

“He’ll be in a much better mood this time, Mr. Russia!” Estonia urged him.

Latvia nodded vigorously and added, “I’ll make sure the parlor is nice and warm for him!”

“That’s right!” Lithuania agreed, grinning so broadly it looked almost painful.  “We’ll all do our best! So-- So we should get started, right?”

“But of course,” said Russia, relieved to have so many good friends to cheer him up.  "Let's get to it." 

At his suggestion, the three of them dispersed, eager to do their jobs. 

Russia adjusted his coat on his shoulders, took a steadying sip from his flask, and made for his most useful kitchen.

Once there, he put a kettle on the stove and set about gathering all the necessities for Japan’s daily cup of tea: a cup, a pot, a saucer, a tray, and, of course, the precious medicine his caretakers had given him.  It was just another sign of their love for him, he marveled. They knew how important it was for him to keep his guests happy. So, they had given him medicine for the Special Representative of Japan, just as they had allowed him a shipment of food for entertaining the Special Representative of China.  

It bothered him a little, the way they always referred to his friends in such a stiff manner.  

Russia poured a dose of the precious remedy into Japan’s tea and stirred it with a tarnished spoon.  The bottle had perhaps a week’s worth of doses left inside it, maybe two. It saddened him. He had been graciously allowed to look after Japan for this long, and he had been given just enough medicine for that purpose.  As the bottle drained, so did his precious time with his guest. 

Not that his guest had been particularly cooperative.

Russia loaded the tea tray and braced himself for another ever-pleasant chat with Japan.

He found Japan’s door with practiced ease, although unlocking it while balancing a tea tray on his hip was another matter.  Still, he managed. Japan startled awake the moment he entered the room.

“Good morning, Japan!” Russia greeted his guest.  “I hope--”

“Where is Mr. Lithuania?”

Russia’s grin sharpened at the hostile interruption.  “I am afraid he’s busy this morning,” Russia patiently explained.  “I’ll be taking care of you.”

Japan threw him a hateful scowl and replied, “I don’t need your help.”

The strain in his voice made it clear that he was sorely mistaken.

“Still so proud,” Russia sighed.  In spite of Japan’s venom, Russia didn’t hesitate in drawing near enough to set the tea tray down on his guest’s nightstand.  Gently, he poured the tea. Its bitter perfume filled the air. “There’s no shame in needing others. Here.” The teacup clinked on its saucer.  “I made tea.”

Japan glared at the cup.  “I don’t want it.” 

“Friend Japan,” Russia implored, pressing the offending drink further into Japan’s face.  “You simply must take your medicine.”

“It’s not helping,” Japan shot back.  He coughed a few times as if to prove his point.  Then, he repeated, “I don’t want it.”

Russia’s smile began to drip at the corners.  “Surely you are not this stubborn with Lithuania.”

Japan turned his flinty gaze towards the wall.  “I have been taking it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he muttered.  “I just don’t think it’s helping.”

A bubble of anger floated up inside of Russia, but he pinched it in the upturn of his lips.  “Nonsense,” he cooed. He reached out to check Japan’s temperature. Japan flinched away. More angry bubbles had to be popped between Russia’s clenched teeth.  He tried again to touch Japan’s forehead, and this time managed a full second before Japan jerked away. Russia pulled away with a smile that was bigger and wider than he thought he could manage.  “Your temperature has improved,” he pointed out. “And you’re certainly more energetic. Is that not an improvement?”

A flash of horror crossed Japan’s face.  Doubtless, Russia considered, it hurt such a proud man to be so easily proven wrong.  “Perhaps you’re right,” Japan quietly admitted. “I’d better take my tea.”

“That’s it!” Russia gushed.  “I knew you’d see reason. Let’s try this again, shall we?”  Once again, he offered Japan the drink.

Japan took it.  His fingers trembled while he drank.  When he passed the empty cup back to Russia, Russia wondered if he didn’t look a little green.

“I know the flavor is unpleasant,” Russia placated him.  “But tonight, my friends should be bringing you something else to cover up the taste.”

“How wonderful,” Japan droned.

“Isn’t it?” Russia cheerfully replied, setting the tea tray aside.  “Now, if I can find your wheelchair, I’ll take you to the--”

“I’ll go later,” Japan hurriedly informed him.  “Right now I’m-- I’m still very tired,” he said.  He coughed again. “I’d like to rest.”

Russia inspected the weary skin hanging under Japan’s eyes and decided that he might have a point.  “Alright,” he relented. “Someone should be in to check on you in a few hours, then. Have a nice rest, friend Japan.”

Japan let out a long breath as Russia collected the tea tray.  “Thank you, Mr. Russia,” he sighed. Exhaustion bore itself heavily in his words, and so Russia took great care to shut the door as quietly as he could before he locked it with a key.  He adjusted the tea tray in his arms, and as he strolled away, he hummed.

His thoughts drifted back to the lock on the door.  Not only did Japan seem to be recovering his strength, but East Germany was becoming more familiar with his halls by the day.  As it was, the lock might keep East Germany out, but it would do a very poor job of keeping Japan in.

Briefly, he wondered if he should stop giving Japan his medicine.

If Japan started to wander the house, he might try to brave the outdoors in his sickened state.  Russia comforted himself against that worry with the knowledge that his leaders had done a very good job of protecting Russia and his house from the outside.  Japan would never make it out the door. Sometimes, not even Russia was allowed to escape the confines of his house.

Still, he considered, it wouldn’t do Japan any good to bump into East Germany, either.  It was better for the whole world, even, to go on knowing only that Prussia had died. Japan was to leave soon enough, and if he were to spread word of a nation reborn--

East Germany had been born in his house, Russia reasoned, and in his house he should stay.

But that vain hope had been threatened already.  Italy and Romano and China all knew of East Germany’s presence, now.  Russia only hoped he could still pass it off as dying Prussia’s presence, instead.

Russia quite liked East Germany.  Even in spite of his clear inability to follow instructions, Russia wanted very much for him to stay.  He did good work with the blueprints and the cleaning, although it often took several reminders before he could be convinced to do his chores.  When he worked, he worked well. Among other things, East Germany was efficient, tidy, good-natured--

Nosy.

Russia deposited the tea tray back in the kitchen and considered that perhaps it would be a good idea to relocate Japan.  Maybe to a room with a more suitable lock. After all, his leaders had wanted his guest’s presence to remain discreet.

They had made that very clear to him.

Russia reached for his flask.

When he felt a little warmer inside, he hurried away to check that his friends were all doing their part to prepare for China’s visit.  He needed to make China feel more welcomed than ever.

By the time China arrived, the halls were nearly warm, but certainly bright; the food tantalized all who beheld it, and all Russia’s friends trembled with excitement.

But China never made it further than the entryway.

“Good day to you China,” Russia greeted him, all teeth.  “Please, come in and have some lunch.”

“I don’t think I will,” China cooly replied.

Russia felt his heart jerk limply in his chest.  “Why not?” he implored. “My friends worked so hard to cook it for you, you know.”

“I’m sure,” China drawled.  “But I’m afraid I can’t come in for fear that I’ll be so suddenly and violently escorted out again.”

“Oh, China,” Russia laughed.  “That won’t happen again. Of course that won’t happen again.  It’s not like you to be so silly.”

China did not smile.

“You lied to me,” said China.  “Why did you tell me that Prussia was clinging to death’s door knob when he was clearly fine?”

Russia’s heart gave another erratic tug.  “I wouldn’t call that fine,” he tried. “You didn’t see how he had to hang on the wall for support, just to move.  I told him to stay in bed. Stubborn man until the very end, that Prussia.”

“Except he didn’t look weak at all when he was trying to shove you off of him,” China bit.

“Adrenaline!” Russia declared, stealing the suggestion his own body was giving him.  “And I was being very gentle with him, I assure you!”

“What else have you been lying to me about?” China demanded, arms crossed.  “If you would go to such great lengths to deceive me over something so trivial--“ His lips curled with disdain.  “If you would tell me such blatant lies and take me for such a fool that I should believe them, then I believe I have better things to do than to sit here and eat up what you give me.”  He scoffed weakly at the floor. “Especially if it’s all going to be shit.”

With that, he turned and left.

After a long, heavy minute, Russia reached for his flask.

China would be back, he told himself.

He took a swig.

This was all a silly misunderstanding.

He took another swig.

Surely he hadn’t lost a friend.

He drained the flask entirely.

By the time night fell, his smile was a jagged scar across his face, and it marred the spirits of all who witnessed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's interesting to step into someone else's shoes.  
> Thank you as always for your patience and unrelenting enthusiasm! I've been a loose coin in the dryer that is life as of late, but I swear, this story's going to get done. Me and Kai always want to know what you guys think, so don't hesitate to tell us.  
> Stay cool, y'all.  
> Love,  
> Jay


	23. Gilbert

The noise started shortly after sunset. 

It began as a low moan which Prussia mistook for the wind.  It was not uncommon, after all, for a ragged breeze to whistle and whine through the battered boards and bricks of Russia’s home.  He ignored it. The blueprints on his desk were far more interesting, after all, and Ukraine had given him extra this week. 

But then thumps had sounded from somewhere below, peppering the groaning with jarring quakes and crashes.  Concern and aggravation took their turns carouseling through Prussia’s mind, but, stalwart as always, he rolled another blueprint across his desk and adjusted his spectacles.  It didn’t matter that the wailing had only gotten louder. Whatever the cause of the noise, he had work to do. Everything else, he assured himself, he could ignore.

Four thumps later, he changed his mind.

As he flung aside his pen and shoved away from his desk, a particularly loud thump came from his office door, and a pale-faced Lithuania scurried inside.

“Er, hello.”  Prussia hovered over his desk, a perplexed frown dangling from his face.  “You look terrible.”

Lithuania merely trembled and pulled the door shut.

“What’s the matter?” Prussia demanded, but then Lithuania set a covered tray down on his desk.  It smelled of chicken. “Who’s that for?” his stomach demanded he ask instead.

“It’s for you,” Lithuania murmured.  There was another wail downstairs. It sounded almost human.  Lithuania closed his eyes. His knuckles whitened along the edges of the tray.  “There were leftovers.”

Prussia frowned down at the tray where the light from the window reflected off the dish cover.  He turned to look through the window himself. The clouds were frozen. The grass lay still. Not a leaf trembled.

There was another moan downstairs, and it most certainly wasn’t the wind.

Despite having completed his delivery, Lithuania lingered at Prussia’s desk, staring through it with hollow eyes.

All the moisture left Prussia’s throat.  “Leftovers, huh?”

Gravely, Lithuania nodded.  “Mr. China was supposed to stay for lunch.”

“Oh,” said Prussia.  Downstairs, something shattered.  “Oh.”

“Stay away from Mr. Russia,” Lithuania whispered.  “Stay in your office. Stay in your room. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away.”  He stepped towards the door. “Don’t let him remember you exist, or he’ll blame his pain on you.” 

Wretched sobs floated through the air and crawled across Prussia’s skin.  “Why?” he whispered.

Lithuania scoffed weakly at the door and shook his head.  “Don’t you get it? It’s all your fault.” He silenced Prussia’s protests with a ragged stare.  “Mr. China is very upset with him. You showed your face to Mr. China and exposed one of Mr. Russia’s lies.  It’s all your fault,” he said. “Just like it’s all my fault for not making Mr. China feel welcome enough, or all Latvia’s fault for forgetting to dust the mantel, or--”  He laughed like dust falling in a crypt. “In this house, we share everything. Mr. Russia’s pain is no exception.”

Without another sound, Lithuania slipped away.

Prussia stayed in his office long after his work was done, long after his food was gone, long after the groaning stopped.  Only when the moon had risen far above the horizon did he dare step into the gloom of the hall. Silence and woe greeted him around every corner, and he grimaced back at them.  If Russia had still been wailing, Prussia would at least know where safety was.

But it didn’t matter, he supposed.  He was going to see Japan tonight regardless.

When he had sneaked all the way to the correct door, he knocked three times as loud as he dared.  Something shuffled and shambled and groaned behind the door, and he both hoped and feared that it would be his friend he saw when the lock clicked and the door creaked open.

Flickering candlelight illuminated a feeble man hanging from the edge of the door, clutching at his stomach, beckoning with fevered brow for Prussia to enter.

The room smelled of sickness and sweat.

“Japan?” Prussia whispered, hazarding a few steps inside.  Japan slumped against the door, forcing it shut with a hollow bang.  “Japan!” Prussia hissed, rushing to stop Japan’s slow descent to the floor.  Japan fell like a wet towel into Prussia’s arms.

“I had to drink it,” Japan shivered out.  Sweat glittered on his forehead. “Russia came in, and I couldn’t fake it.  Now I’m-- I’m sick again.”

“It’s alright,” Prussia told him, hauling him back to bed.  Every creak of the floor made him wince, but Japan’s condition concerned him more.  “Lay down. Try to relax,” he whispered, pulling the damp sheets back over Japan. “You had to drink what, now?” he asked, belatedly attempting to process Japan’s distressed explanation.  “Is he still poisoning you?”

“The-- The tea,” Japan replied, nodding weakly from his pillow.  “The poison is in the tea. Russia makes me drink it, but Mr. Lithuania--” Japan took a ragged breath and grasped for more strength.  “Mr. Lithuania doesn’t usually make me drink it, but today,” he sighed. “Today, he did. Russia gave it to me, and then I had it again, when Mr. Lithuania-- He brought me food,” Japan helplessly explained.  “But he looked so afraid…”

“It’s okay,” Prussia forced himself to say, quieting Japan with a steadying hand on his sweat-soaked shoulder.  “I think I understand what’s going on here.” Confusion swam in Japan’s eyes. “Russia was really upset today. Lithuania’s terrified of pissing him off, and I can’t say I blame him,” he sighed.  “So of course he’s going to do everything Russia wants. And-- get this-- apparently Russia’s been lying to China about me. I think he wants people to believe I’m dead. At least, that’s my best guess.  Now, China isn’t happy with--”

Japan’s eyelids slid shut.

“Japan?” Prussia asked, but then he tried, “Are you still with me, Kiku?”  The name felt strange on his tongue, but it cast a feeble smile over his friend’s face.

“I’m listening,” Japan quietly assured him, his eyes still shut.  “Just… Just very tired.”

Prussia watched him take a few shallow breaths.  “Maybe I should let you rest.”

“No,” Japan breathed, face contorted in pain.  “Don’t-- I need this,” he said. “I need to know what’s happening.  I need someone I can trust.”

Prussia let out a weary sigh.  “What you really need is to be anywhere but here.”

An odd grunt left Japan.  “Let’s-- Let’s go, then,” he said, pressing with all his might against the weight of gravity.  He slumped back into his pillow, panting. “Let’s go,” he insisted. “There’s a wheelchair in the corner.”

Pain twisted around Prussia’s gut.  “You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he said.  “Not like this.”

“I need to get out of here,” Japan pleaded.  “I’ll go insane if I have to stay here any longer.  Even without the poison, I get weaker every day. I can’t remember when I last saw the sun, and the only people I see...” He grimaced and sought out Prussia’s eyes.  “This place is killing me. Can’t you see that? I miss the ocean,” he whispered. “I miss my people. I can’t even feel them anymore, and it’s like-- It’s like I’ve lost a limb,” he confessed, his voice strained with grief.  “Where there should be a part of me, there’s just… nothing.” He shook his head at the ceiling and whispered, “Nothing at all.”

Faintly, Prussia nodded.  “I know how you feel.”

Japan shuddered out a breath.  “I spoke without thinking,” he said.  “I apologize.”

“Hey, we’re both in this mess,” Prussia replied through a feeble smile.  “I’m just sorry I can’t do more to get us out of here.” He huffed. “I don’t even know if I can walk like our kind do, anymore.  If I get killed trying to escape, I don’t know if I’m enough of a nation yet to come back. And besides all that, where would we even go?” 

For a few moments, they sat in their miserable silence.

“It’s not so bad, I guess,” said Prussia, staring at the candle.  “At least, it could be worse. They have to let us out of here sooner or later, right?  It’s not a life-sentence.”  

“I suppose there’s that,” Japan dispassionately agreed.  “Perhaps by the time we’re released in a few centuries, I’ll have lost my mind so completely that I won’t want to leave.”

“That’s the spirit,” Prussia drawled.

The candle flickered lowly in its stub.

“It won’t be forever,” Prussia started again.  Japan looked up to him with dull eyes. “That’s what I used to tell West whenever we were in the thick of it.  Actually--” he managed a laugh-- “I started telling him that when he was little, getting into mischief, and I had to set him straight with extra chores.”

Japan passed him a skeptical frown.  “I don’t believe Germany is capable of mischief.”

“Well then I did my job,” Prussia replied, teeth glinting in the candlelight.  “Believe it or not, he used to be a little shit.”

Japan coughed up a laugh.

“No, really!” Prussia insisted.  “He thought he was born with all the knowledge in the universe in his little head, always trying to tell me how things worked, talking back, never taking my word for anything… You know, one time,” he said, gazing wistfully into the past, “I tried to tell him how-- God, this was forever ago-- but there was this little pond where I taught him to fish and swim and stuff, right?  That’s the first place he ever saw a swan. I tried to tell him they were mean. Swans are mean birds, I told him. You don’t want to play with swans, and they don’t want to play with you. He didn’t believe me. I guess he got it in his head, somehow-- maybe my own little bird gave him the wrong impression about birds or something-- but when that swan hissed at him,” Prussia chuckled to himself, eyes glittering.  “The poor little snot cried… I felt so bad, but I couldn’t help but laugh.” He was quiet for a moment. “He learned to trust me pretty quick, actually. Didn’t give me nearly as much trouble as I deserved. He was a good kid. A really good kid. Still is. Reminds me of you a bit--” When he at last wrenched his gaze from the depths of memory to focus it on Japan, he found his audience fast asleep.

Prussia sighed, then, and stood to his feet.  “Goodnight, Kiku,” he whispered. Japan didn’t stir, although when Prussia pulled the blankets more securely over him, he did let out a breath of contentment.

With little else to do but leave Japan to rest, Prussia crept for the door, slipped out of the candlelight’s reach, and pulled the door shut behind himself.  His eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. The faint light from Japan’s room crawled out from under the door and stretched languidly outwards, skittering across the floor, a hall rug--

\--a foot.

Prussia bit off the end of a curse.  The little form hugging its knees beside the door, however, didn’t move.  Holding his breath, Prussia crouched down. Latvia’s tousled head of hair gave him away, despite how he had it buried in his arms in his sleep.

After a beat or two of hesitation, Prussia reached out and patted his shoulder.

The reaction was as instantaneous as it was violent.  Latvia flinched away so forcefully that he banged his head on the wall, and his feet scrabbled and scuffled across the floor in his futile attempt to scoot away.  

“I’m sorry M--!”

Prussia pressed a frantic hand over the boy’s mouth and shushed him until his thrashing ceased.  When his panic died, the clamor he had created died with it.  

“It’s okay!” Prussia breathed, plucking his hand away.  “It’s okay! You’re alright.”

Latvia took a few jagged breaths before he whispered, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Prussia scowled down at him and said, “Speak for yourself. But-- But not here.” Casting a glance down the hall, he pulled Latvia up with him as he stood.  The boy sneaked with him past a few doors and around a corner until Prussia pulled them both into an empty, moonlit room.

“You’re going to get us all in trouble,” said Latvia the moment the door shut.  His anger nearly masked his terror. “You’re not even supposed to know that Mr. Japan is here.  If Mr. Russia finds out…” He shook his head and glared up at Prussia. “You have to stop visiting him.”

“Well Russia’s not going to find out,” Prussia huffed.  “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

“I-- I might!” Latvia retorted, trembling.

“Sure,” Prussia droned, rolling his eyes.  “Or, you could maybe, you know, not tell him, and he gets to live in blissful ignorance, and nobody gets pummelled.”

“But he’s going to find out!” Latvia fearfully insisted.  “Sooner or later, he’ll-- All I had to do was follow you down the hall, and I found out!”

Prussia narrowed his eyes at him.  “And what are you doing out of bed at this hour, anyway?”  

“Don’t change the subject!”

The house groaned around them.

“Look,” Prussia breathed.  “Russia’s not going to find out.  But if he does, I’ll take the fall for it.”

Latvia scoffed at him.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Prussia replied with equal bite.  “I’ve been a knight and an empire and a soldier and a big brother, too,” he declared.  “The day I let a kid like you take the fall for something I did is the day I die.” 

The moon shone dully against Latvia’s glassy eyes.  “You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

“Hey, thanks,” Prussia replied, grinning.  “That’s the nicest thing I’ve been called all week.”

A coarse laugh wrenched itself free from Latvia’s stiff exasperation.

Before Latvia had time to grow bitter again, Prussia let loose a theatrical stretch and yawned, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a night.”   

“Do what you want,” said Latvia, unable to help but yawn himself.  “I can’t sleep.”

Prussia blinked very pointedly at him.  “So what you were doing three minutes ago,” he said.  “That was just, oh, I don’t know, resting your eyes? Meditation?” 

“You caught me off guard,” Latvia huffed.  “If you want to sleep, go ahead. I’m not tired.”

Prussia simply shrugged at him and meandered towards the door.  “Well, Mr. Not Tired,” he said, “If I were you, I’d go check out my office and make sure I hadn’t nicked any tea or anything like that from the kitchen when nobody was watching.”

“You’re going to get us all in trouble,” Latvia mumbled.

“Exactly why you should go make sure I’m not up to anything,” said Prussia.  “Goodnight,” he yawned. Then, he threw Latvia a wave and slipped out the door.

When he stumbled into his office the next morning, he found an old blanket wadded up in his chair, one of his pilfered books open on his desk, and Latvia’s flask sitting where his cache of tea had been before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things can't be so bad when there's a big brother looking out for you. Not to be confused with Big Brother looking out for you, of course. Sometimes, both of those things happen at once. If anything's unclear, or if you have some wild theories about what's going on, or if you have headcanons or questions or emotions to spew, let us know! Thank you all for existing, and may all your beverages stay chilly.  
> Jay


	24. Bleeding Hearts

The rotary wheel hummed beneath his finger, a number spun into the phone for the umpteenth time, a connection, a tone.

Italy waited.  His brother’s house sulked from between his curtains, dark windows simmering before tight curtains.  The front garden crawled with soldiers. Italy’s own property swarmed just the same.

Silence continued to dull the earpiece.  Italy closed his eyes. He wouldn’t let the tears fall yet.  Not yet. He hadn’t earned it.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Breath caught in Italy’s throat as his brother’s voice jutted out through the line.  “Please don’t hang up this time.  Just hear me out,” he said, pushing the words through his fast-constricting throat.  “Give me five minutes, and I won’t bother you again. I promise.”

A procession of heavy breaths battered the line, and then, “Why the fuck did you do it?”

The sharp words gave way to a pain duller than the silence, at least.  “I thought he could help us find Japan. I didn’t know--”

“Bullshit!”  Italy winced.  “He’s just as helpless as we are now, and it’s your damned fault just the same!  You know what, he’s probably even worse off now than he was before, just like us, and it’s all because of you.  I want the truth, Feli. You owe me that. You’ve given me nothing but lies for God knows how long, so I want the truth, or so help me God I’ll hang up this phone and leave it there until you get us out of this mess.”

When the huffs and puffs receded, Italy swallowed the lump in his throat well enough to give him a fragile, “You’re not going to like this.”

“I already don’t like this.”

“Okay, well,” Italy fretted.  The phone trembled in his hand.  “I missed him.” He waited for the slam of the receiver on the hook, but it never came, so he continued.  “I meant it when I said I thought he could help, but I saw him that once, with England, and he looked so--so human,” he insisted.  “I missed that. I missed him. And he was all alone, and the soldiers were cruel to him, and they never let him outside--”

“Oh, I wonder what that’s like.”

“--and I couldn’t just let him live like that without at least telling him his brother’s alive!”  Italy gripped his end of the phone and gazed imploringly out at his brother’s dark house. It glowered at him.  “You gotta understand that, Lovi. How would you feel if--”

“Prussia never stabbed his brother in the back,” Romano bit.  “So if that bastard you like so much doesn’t want his brother dead, I can’t relate.”

Italy parted his trembling lips, but nothing sensible came from them.

“I’m tired of picking up after you,” said Romano, his voice taut as a cocked gun.  “You’re doing your own damned paperwork from now on, and if you think of any more hairbrained schemes, I don’t want to be a part of them.  Finding Japan would’ve been nice,” he sniffled. “We could be out there looking for him right now, but you had to go and fuck it up for all of us, didn’t you?  Don’t talk to me until you’ve fixed this.”

The line slammed shut.

Italy coughed up a lonely sob and let the telephone fall from his fingers, let it clatter onto the table and rest with his tears.  

Everything was ruined once again, and once again, he only had himself to blame.

And blame himself he did.

Wailing and wallowing unceasingly, Italy lurched and wobbled around his home in search of solace.  He found only dusty reminders of the loved ones he had lost along his life’s troublesome way. Death had robbed him before, but his own carelessness was most often the thing that stole his happiness away.

So lost was he in his misery that he scarcely heard the knock at the door.  Pulling himself up took so much out of him that he didn’t bother wiping away the fresh wet pain from his face when he answered the door.

Italy blinked his watery eyes up at France, uncomprehending.

“Feli,” said France, bearing a dozen unasked questions in the tense of his arms.  “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”  A soldier glowered at him from across the garden.  He sniffled. “You should probably come inside.”

“Yes, yes,” France tittered as he squeezed inside.  He closed the door for Italy, who was indisposed. “I couldn’t help but overhear your telephone conversation,” he explained.

Realization crawled lethargically across Italy’s ruddy cheeks.  “Oh,” he said. “That’s right, the phone’s tapped. Right.”

“Right,” said France.  “I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on between you and your brother right now, but I really, really must know.  Is it true?”

Italy began with a nod, and then set himself into another bout of weeping in France’s arms.  “Oh, Francis,” he cried. “I couldn’t just leave Germany there all alone, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but England caught us anyway, and now I’m never gonna see him again, and Lovi hates me, and we’re never gonna find Japan, and you’re probably mad at me, too, because--”

“ _ Feli _ ,” France insisted.  “None of that--well, it matters,” he admitted.  “And I’m going to have to talk to you about it later, but that’s not what I--”  He shook his head and gathered his breath. “Gilbert. You said he was alive. Is he really?” 

Pulling limply away from France, Italy nodded.  “I think so.”

“He can’t be.”

“I know.  He doesn’t have a country anymore,” said Italy.  “When I saw him, though, he looked like he was gonna be okay.  He wasn’t coughing, or wheezing, or anything like--”

“Wait, you saw him?”  Incredulity weighed on his brow.  “When was this? And--” he took a backward pace-- “Hold on, what were you doing at Russia’s house, then?”

“I was looking for Japan!” Italy croaked, distress welling up in his eyes once again.  “We went there, and Russia was talking to us, and then Gilbert wandered in when he wasn’t supposed to, and then Russia made us leave before I got a real chance to talk to him.  I got an audio recording of it, but England took it away from me when he found me at Germany’s place.” He held himself tight. “I would’ve liked to let you listen too, but maybe you can ask England for it.  I don’t know. He’s been such a jerk…”

“Well what were you doing making recordings?” France pressed.  “And surely Russia didn’t agree to being recorded. I’m surprised he let you inside in the first place.”

“Oh, no, it was really tiny,” said Italy, miming the size with a wave of his fingers.  “America made it so that you could hide it under clothes.”

Another layer of confusion crumpled France’s face.  “America?”

“Yeah, he wanted us to use it to spy on Russia, I think,” said Italy.  France paled. “I mean, he never said so, but I like to think I’m not so dumb that I don’t know when I'm being used.”

Suppressed horror dawned on France’s face.  “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” he whispered.  “Especially if you think he did something to Japan--Russia could figure you out at any moment!  In fact,” he hurriedly added, “he might already suspect you!”

Italy frowned at him.  “I doubt that,” he said.  “He thinks I’m spying on America for him.”

“Feliciano Vargas!”

Wincing, Italy tried, “Well, it’s not like I was doing a very good job of it, or anything.”

“What on earth were you thinking?”  France slumped into a wall, evidently to keep from keeling over in shock and despair.  “Don’t you realize you're playing with fire? Between what the two of them could do to you, it’s a good thing England caught you before you dug you and your brother into a pit where even we couldn’t reach you.  Helping Russia? And then going back to Germany, after everything--!”

“Francis--”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to hear excuses!  Before either of them figure out you’ve been two-timing them, you’re going to call them and tell them that you can’t work with them anymore,” he said.  He scoffed in disbelief. “That you would spy on America for Russia… That America even--” He scoffed again. “The nerve of it all. Call it all off, Feli.  I’ll be listening over the phone, you know, so don’t try to pull any more tricks.”

“You can’t just tell me what to do like that!” Italy protested, his grief replaced with indignation.  “It’s bad enough you let Germany get treated the way he does, but I won’t let you walk all over me like England does!  I thought you had my back!”

“I did!” France retorted.  “I genuinely thought you could handle a little freedom by now, but apparently you’re set on getting yourself killed!”  He whirled and strutted towards the door, leaving heat in his wake. “You’re not leaving here for a very long time, so I suggest you call off all your little games and get back to the work you’re meant to be doing, with your people, where you’re actually needed.”

“So that’s it?” Italy shouted at his back.  “And what about Japan? Did you ever care about finding him at all?”

France stopped, then, and turned to look him in the eye.  “Let it go, Italy. Think about everything he’s been through.  He’s gone, just like Gilbert’s gone. Dead or alive, they’re not here, and if they ever come back, they won’t be the same as we know them now.”  He shook his head. “That’s your problem, though, isn’t it? You hold onto things that are dying and dead and gone, waiting for the return of a heartbeat until the rot makes you sick.  The sooner you give it all up,” he said, “the sooner it’ll stop hurting so much. Stop torturing yourself, Feli.” Italy could only feel resentment for the concern that had crept back into his voice.  “Living with all these corpses in your heart isn’t going to do you any good. You’re going to have plenty of time to yourself from now on,” he said. “Think about it.”

“You’re wrong!” Italy called after him as he left.  “You’re wrong,” he said, falling into a chair. “Kiku’s still out there,” he told himself.  “He is. He’s not gone. Gil’s coming home one day, too,” he hopelessly added. “They’re gone, but they’re coming back.  They’ll be the same. And Ludwig,” he murmured. Fresh sorrow welled up in his eyes. “Ludwig,” he cried, and then, twisting the knife in his own heart, he reminded himself, “Holy Rome…”

Most things that left never came back.  It was in Italy’s deepest pain that he knew best this fact.  Once time ripped away a piece of Italy’s heart, it scarcely ever returned it, let alone as it had found it.  And perhaps France had been right.  Perhaps Italy had let these wounds lie open too long.  Perhaps he let his heart bleed out from the pieces it lacked.  Maybe it was killing him, but he didn’t have enough heart left to care. All he had now was pain, and the memory of the way things had been before.

While everyone else went around with scabs over their hearts, Italy let himself bleed, and bleed, and bleed.  He wept for it. The world clearly hadn’t been meant for ones who let their hearts lie open, and Italy was tired of feeling hurt which others of his kind had long since scorned.  He was tired of chasing time and begging it to give back what it had stolen from him.

Perhaps France had been right, after all.

When Italy finished weeping, he picked himself up, and he gathered all his paperwork.  He turned on a lamp. He blew the dust off his desk.

There was nothing left for him to do, now, except this.  Paper after paper, hour after hour, he signed away his name, Feliciano Vargas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six chapters remain. They can't possibly all be this sad, right? I promised you guys a happy ending.  
> Right?  
> In all seriousness, thank you all for your patience and support <3 Please dispose of all your feelings in the proper receptacles below.  
> -Jay


	25. Spiders

There was another package on his stoop.  He didn’t know what was in it. He could guess.  A snazzy new coat, maybe a sharp hat, maybe a gold-plated pocket watch, with love from D.C.

America stared at the box through his windshield and listened to the tick, tick, tick of the engine as it cooled.  Brown paper, brown twine, a little note flapping in the wind, like always.

The box stared back at him.

America left his car in his driveway and the package on his stoop and set a nations’ path towards the one place left in the whole of the earth where he was truly safe from prying eyes and ears.

An hour’s hike later, America’s spit-shined shoes went creaking over the worn, ivy-laden boards of a saggy cabin porch, all this nestled deep within the North American wilderness.

He could not deny the years of neglect, though he wanted to.  He wanted to.

America pushed through the door and into the cabin.  The sigh of wind sent cakes of dust shivering. Cobwebs shrouded everything.  A thin veil clung to the telephone and dangled into the chair below. America remembered pain, and another life.

He reached through the webs and let his heart dial a number.  A chill followed the phone to his ear. It shuddered.

“Hello?”

“Mattie?” America whispered.  The cabin shifted in its sleep.

“Al?” Canada asked.  Something rustled against the receiver.  “Where are you?”

“I’m at the cabin,” he said.  The words got caught in the cobwebs.  He itched. “Can we talk?”

His brother hesitated.  “You don’t mean on the phone, do you?”

“No.”

There was another pause.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said.  Then, he hung up.

America nodded at the wall returned the phone to its hook.  Cobwebs stuck to his hand. When he tried to smear them across his trouser leg, the cobwebs lingered on his fingers.  He looked for the sink.

The pipes let loose a splash of red.  Rusty pipes, America told himself. It only looked like blood.  It only reeked like blood. He waited until all the crimson had fallen down the drain, and then he waited a little longer before he dared place his hand beneath the flow.   

The cobwebs slipped away.

America stared at his hand as the water splashed against it, and then he splashed his face.  He wiped wayward droplets off his glasses, and when he restored them to his face, he truly noticed the dust all around him.  While he waited, he labored to clear some of it away. A rag from the washroom helped him. It uncovered the telephone, a chair, the window panes.

A bush of zinnias bloomed from without the hazy, dusty glass.  America stared at it through the window, entranced by the petals’ many colors, entangled suddenly within the sense that there was someplace else he needed to be.

“Alfred?”

He whirled, fingers stopping an inch from his gun.  Shock twisted into a warm display of teeth.  

“Heya Mattie.”

Canada’s gaze flitted against the window, and then back at his brother.  “Didn’t you hear me come in?”

“No, yeah, of course I did,” America assured him, plastic ease jolting from his limbs.  “Hey, you got a light?”

Canada frowned at him, worry hanging from his face.  “Don’t you have your own?” he asked, loosening his scarf.  “Al, really. What’s this about?”

 ”This place is a wreck,” said America, pacing.   “Let’s fix it up this spring. Knock out the dust, hammer on some new shingles.  I think there’s a leak.”

“Yeah,” Canada slowly replied.  A board creaked under his feet. “Al, are you okay?”

“Better than ever,” was the immediate reply.  “I’m great. Things are fantastic. Peachy-keen,” he rambled.  Before Canada could voice his concern, he went on, “Maybe I trusted the wrong people, but it’s fine.  I mean--” he clutched at the edges of his jacket-- “I didn’t need those guys. Not really.”

“Who?”

America laughed.

“Alfred--”

“Are you sure you don’t have a match?” America insisted.  “I want a smoke.”

Gingerly, Canada shook his head.  “There might be a box around here.  I don’t know.”

Silence surrounded America by the window.  He didn’t move.

Canada, however, stepped forward.  “You’re worrying me,” he murmured. “If there’s something wrong--”

“I’m not the one you should worry about,” America snipped, whirling at him.  “Everyone else. They’re the ones-- They’ll make you think you’re friends, Mattie,” he warned, desperation gleaming in his glassy eyes.  “They’ll give you gifts, or they’ll make promises they can’t keep. They don’t really care about you. They just want to use you.”

Canada screwed up his face and huffed, “Who the hell are you talking about?”

America laughed again.  “Who the hell aren’t I talking about, Mattie?  The people in charge, the people under them, other nations, their people-- I keep getting gifts, Mattie.  Gifts. Expensive stuff. It’s to keep me quiet. I shouldn’t even--“ He began to tremble, his eyes darting all around, searching, peering through the dust, through the walls.  “If they even knew I was talking to you about this, they’d… I don’t know. I don’t know what they’d do, but they’d know. Anywhere but here, they’d know.”

The paranoia in the room had thickened to the point that even Canada couldn’t help but look over his shoulder.  There was nothing there. At least, nothing he could see.

“Alfred,” he said, voice low.  “Is someone threatening you?”

“No,” America whispered.  “Yes. No, I-- I don’t know.  It’s like they’re bribing me, but I can’t figure out what for.  They’re not my friends. They never were. They want something from me, and I can’t figure it out, but I must be playing into whatever it is, because they keep sending me things!  I hate it! I don’t know what they’re using me for!”

“Let’s-- Let’s calm down,” Canada tried, but America couldn’t hear it. 

“I don’t know what they want!  But I have to do what they tell me,” America seethed.  “Like I’m their puppet. Like I’m-- What else can I do? I can’t walk away!  I can’t just ignore what they tell me, even if they’re probably up to something awful again.  They’re always up to something,” he told his brother, twitching eyes aflame. “Your people are, too.  I know it. They all are, they’re--”

“No!” said Canada, slicing the air with his hands.  “My people aren’t up to anything, Al!”

“That’s what you think,” America hissed.  “How would you know? Would they even tell you?  No?” 

“I don’t know,” Canada admitted, defensive.  “But if I thought they were up to something, I’d-- I’d ask for help!” he said.  “Because I know there’s people who want to help me. Like my brother, maybe. I want to help you, Al.”

America peered uncertainly at him, for once considering his words, but then his gaze slipped over his shoulder, caught in a cobweb.  It was only a web, of course. Only a web, and its many-eyed spider.

“I’ve asked for help already,” America started again, looking away.  His foot started to tap of its own volition. “Those Italy brothers. They were gonna help me out.”

Canada cautiously leaned himself against a wall.  “They were?”

“Were,” America agreed, searching the landscape outside for eyes.  “The old man caught Italy conspiring with Germany. I should’ve known they were in cahoots, but I thought, hey.  Italy wants to find Japan, right? He’s gonna look at Russia’s place anyway. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”  He scoffed. “He was a terrible spy.” 

“Spy?” Canada exclaimed.  “You’re spying on Russia?”

“Fair’s fair,” America shrugged.  “He’s watching me. Just like my bosses.  They’re all watching, you know. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

A pipe groaned.

“I really haven’t noticed, Al,” said Canada, metering his words.  “Maybe you can help me notice. What should I look for?”

“Oh, there’s evidence everywhere.” he answered.  “You gotta assume all the phones are tapped. See, they know there’s spies, and they want to listen,” he explained.  “Keep the spies from doing too much damage. But to do that, they have to listen to everyone else, too, see?”

Canada made himself nod.  “And these spies,” he ventured.  “Where do they come from?”

“The USSR, dummy!”

“And how do you know that?”

America paused.  “My bosses told me.  You know, it’s gotta be true,” he said.  “I bet they tell me mostly lies, but this one’s gotta be true.  My people are all so scared. Terrified. Everyone’s trying to take over.  That’s the price of success, Mattie. You start winning big, and then everyone wants a piece of you.”

Canada allowed America to take a few deep breaths before he told him, “I don’t want anything from you, Alfred.”

“No,” said America.  “I bet you do. Everybody does.”  His head swiveled loosely on his spine.  “Arthur does, you know. Just wants my money.  My power. But he’s honest about it,” he said, stilling.  “I know what he wants, at least. That helps.”

“I can’t speak for Arthur,” Canada hesitantly replied, “but I can speak for myself.  The only thing I want is for you to get some help. I mean it.”

“You’re right,” America muttered.  “I can’t use the Italy brothers anymore, can I?  Maybe Germany, or--”

“No!”  Canada crossed the room and gripped his brother’s shoulders, meeting his wild eyes, those of a trapped animal.  “Listen to me,” he urged. “Whatever’s going on with you, it’s not normal,” he said. “You’re not okay right now.  You’re not  _ yourself _ , Alfred, and it’s scaring me.”

A wide, wide grin split America’s face.  “You don’t get it. You think you’re scared?” he whispered, his furious grin stretching impossibly further.  “Try living in my shoes for one single second. You’d crack like an egg.”

He almost relished the fear on his brother’s face.  Nobody truly understood him unless they were afraid.  This was his only certainty. 

“Don’t worry about me,” America assured him.  “I’m fine.”

Canada’s hands slipped off his shoulders, then.  He stepped back. “You’re not,” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” America repeated, baring his teeth.  “We should catch up soon. When it’s all over, we’ll catch up.”

Canada shook his head and dared, “And when will that be?”

“We’ll go duck hunting,” said America.  “We’ll camp out like we used to. Live off the land.  Don’t you miss that, Mattie? I miss that.”

“I miss it,” Canada breathed.  He took another step back, but America followed him.

“It reminds you you don’t need anyone,” he went on.  “Just you and your goal and a gun in your hand. People like us?  We can die, and we pop back up again like weeds. We’re gods. Do you ever think about that?  We’re gods, and we just…” he trailed off, eyes growing hazy. “I don’t need their help,” he told himself.  “I can do it myself. I’ll do it myself,” he said, fixing his gaze once again on his brother. “I’ll do it myself!  I don’t need anyone to investigate for me, I’ll just--”

He faltered, then.  His eyes slipped downwards, fixated on Canada’s pocket.  “What’s that?” he asked.

Shakily, Canada fished a matchbox from his shirt pocket.

“You said you didn’t have a light.”  Pressure pooled behind his eyes.

“I forgot about it,” said Canada.  “I think I had it to light some candles in my office earlier--”

“You were hiding them from me.”

The air thickened.  “What?”

“You were hiding them from me!” America shouted.  “I knew I couldn’t trust you!”

“Alfred!”

“You just want to manipulate me, too!” America bellowed, clutching at his hair.  “You want to use me! That’s why you came here, isn’t it? Just to twist my head!”

“You’re not making any sense!” Canada retorted, backing towards the door.  “You invited me here, remember?”

“It’s your fault!” America raged.  His head pounded. “Leave me the hell alone!”  He fell against a wall, fingernails digging into his scalp.  “I don’t need you!” he roared. “I don’t need anybody!”

America never heard the door, or anything at all except the blood in his ears.  When the pounding subsided, when at last he looked up, the sun had set. Darkness filled the cabin.

He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys remember zinnias, right? In case you don't, they can symbolize thoughts of an absent friend.  
> We're getting down to the wire, folks! Things might not be so depressing from here on out! We'll see! I apologize in advance for not scheduling a fluff break! Rest your souls!  
> Love,  
> Jay


End file.
